


Dreams of Winter

by JesseMo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), But clueless about women, But they try, Discussion of Abortion, F/M, Implied Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jon Snow knows something, Jon is a supportive big brother, King Rickon, Mad Queen Daenerys?, Minor Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Mix of book and show, One-Sided Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Pregnancy, Queen Shireen, Ramsay is his own warning, Rickon Lives, Sansa has internal issues about her pregnacny, Sansa is actually a really loving mom, Sansa makes hard choices, Sansa-centric, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, Shireen Lives, Shireen has a crush on Jon, Tried to keep her in-character, Tyrion/Sansa in the begining, Unplanned Pregnancy, it's complicated - Freeform, the characters are not perfect people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2018-12-23 06:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11984073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JesseMo/pseuds/JesseMo
Summary: It an attempt to save herself from a worse fate. Sansa consummates her marriage to Tyrion but she could never have expected what would result from one night.Sansa is with child now and terrified what to do. If her child is born in Kings Landing, it's just another pawn to the Lannister's to take her home. Things only get more complicated when Sansa is rescued and whisked off to The Eyrie by the scheming Lord Baelish.Sansa has to make many difficult choices to protect herself and her family.When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.





	1. Chapter I: The Marriage

**Author's Note:**

> This story does contain Shireen/Jon.  
> Shireen is not twelve or fifteen. I'm aging her up. She is Arya's age at the start of this, so let's say sixteen going on seventeen?  
> There is also mentions of abortions multiple times. Please do not make my comment section a political war zone with your opinions on that subject.  
> This is renaissance era type shit, remember that.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't wait. Sorry. I know I said I would wait until I had close to 20 chapters but I've just been so excited writing this that I wanted to share it really badly with you.  
> Fair warning, I will be removing the old chapters as I post the new revised ones.

Sansa had been a Lady by three. She was proper, courteous and dutiful. Her mother had taught her well what it meant to be a great and respected Lady of a noble House. Lady Catelyn had once tried to teach her eldest daughter that there were sacrifices to be a Lady and wife when Sansa had begged to marry Joffrey. But Sansa, stubborn and naive had not wanted to hear it. But she imagined now what type of sacrifices her mother might have told her about. She was faced with a sacrifice, one only a lady could make. 

As much as her father spoke of Winter Coming in relation to the words of House Stark, her mother had also taught her the words of House Tully and what it meant to the Tully Women. Family, Duty, and Honor. It was the woman that truly abide by these words and what it meant to uphold them.

So despite the temptation to take the gift of celibacy her husband was so kindly offering, Sansa did the duty of a bride and wife.

“Wait.” Her voice was so soft, a leaf on the wind, that she thought Tyrion might not have heard her. 

But he had. He stopped his path to the chaise, in which he had planned to pass out on so that she would have the bed to herself, and turned to look at her.

Sansa walked over and took the cup of wine that was in his hands and downed the sweet liquid as she had the goblet she had poured herself after entering their chambers. She would need the courage that she felt the wine might grant her.

Once she drank the last drop, she put in on a small table nearby and stepped between her husband and the rest of the wine. She could not have him drinking anymore.

Looking down at Tyrion, taking him in, his stature, his scar, she thought he was not so displeasing to look at as she once had. Sansa had learned much about the deception of appearances from the pretty Lannisters and the scarred Hound. She leaned forward and took his arms, placing his hands on her hips brazenly.

“I appreciate your kindness, and though it may not be wholly what I desire, I know my duty.” Sansa said looking into his drunken and dazed eyes. “I also know the type of man your father is and I believe it is in both of our best interests that we do what he has commanded.”

Tyrion, despite his swaying form, seemed still clear-headed enough to understand the meaning of her words. He sighed her name as if speaking to a foolish child and tried to take his hands back from her hips, where she had just felt his fingers unconsciously stroking her. It had felt nice, if not a little ticklish at first. 

Sansa let him do so, but only so she could slip the shoulders of her shift down her arms, the fabric falling, and pooling at her ankles. Tyrion sputters at the sight of her naked form and she uses his befuddlement to her advantage. She quickly goes to her knees and snatches his wrists, this time placing his hands on her tits. She felt her entire neck flush to match her cheeks that had already started to warm from the wine.

“It only needs to be one night, correct. Just to show him you have taken my maidenhead?” she asked as she flexed her hands around his, making him grope her breasts. It’s a different pressure than what she feels when she bathes are is dressed, but it’s not painful in any way. The sensation of his palms against her nipples though is pleasant. She smiled when he gave a little groan as they stiffen beneath his touch. 

She understood her seduction was clumsy, but she was not sure how else to go about convincing him.

“Yes.” he swallows around the word and Sansa already notices the tenting in his britches. It scares her, but she does not allow her face to show so.

“My father did say that I just need to take your maidenhead so that no man can challenge our marriage. After that though, well you are still considerably young to birth a child, we could what some years before we had to bed again.” his eyes have left hers already and he stares almost hungrily at the valley of her breasts, her shift pulled down some when she put his hands on them.

“Than that is all we need do.” she tries to sound sure and confident and in the case, she is failing, slips her hands down Tyrion’s arms to his sides. 

Her hands are awkward at first, not sure where to go before landing on doing open of his wedding tunic.

He seems to come out of his lust then, when he feels her fingers slip inside the doublet.

“Are you certain this is what you want?” he asks. “If you are worried about my father I---”

She silences him with a kiss, chaste, but still a kiss. His lips are softer than she expected. She pulls back and smiles, sweet and almost with humor. 

“Will it hurt?” she asks him. She has heard it can be quite painful and uncomfortable. As a lady, sharing a bed with your husband is never described in great detail during her teaching. Septa Mordane only said that it could be unpleasant at first, but a woman grows used to the intrusion and will later barely notice.

Sansa doubted that.

Tyrion blinked confusingly at first, still drunk, and she was unsure if he heard her. But he seems to come out of it and gives her a smile of his own. 

“It can, but I will do all I can to make this pleasurable for you.” he tells her with an awkward sort of confidence. “And it can be, quite pleasurable.”

For some reason, the way he says it makes her laugh. It’s probably the first time he’s ever heard her laugh as he looks even more startled by her.

“Then let us go to the bed, Tyrion. I am sure it will be most comfortable there.” and so Sansa removes herself from his proximity enough to stand and take his hand to lead him to their marriage bed. He crawls up and she follows. 

She lets him take the lead and it feels that every few moments he will ask her how she is. It’s rather annoying actually. She just wants the deed done but Tyrion seems determined to show her that there can be more than just lying on her back and holding her legs open for him. And indeed there is. He kisses her in other places than her mouth, such as her neck and even takes her breasts into his mouth as she remembers seeing Rickon do as a babe. But her mother's face was ever calm, so she can’t imagine it feels the same when Tyrion does it. It’s wet and odd but then he pinches her other nipple while his mouth stays on the other and it makes her toes curl. 

He touches her between her legs and explains it is always better if a woman is wet. She is confused at that, wondering why he would want her to make water in bed like a child. He laughs and she blushes in embarrassment before he explains that a woman can get slick in her woman's place, a natural lubrication to ease entrance.

She gives an embarrassed little “oh.” and nods for him to continue.

It does hurt, Tyrion is bigger than she expected a man of his size to be. There is a pressure and burn as he pushes in hard, bracing himself on his knees, to get through her maidenhead. Tears come from the corner of her eyes and Tyrion breaths against her tits, saying something about how tight she was. 

“I will not be hurt if you close your eyes and think of your Knight of Flowers,” he whispers, keeping his head ducked before beginning to move. 

“Are you thinking of another woman?” she asks.

“My apologies, but you are a beautiful woman, it is very hard to think of anyone else,” he says to her, but then when he starts to move in and out of her, getting close to his peak.  
She hears him say the name of her maid, Shae.

It startles her, but not so much as when he brings his thumb down between them, touching a small bud near the top of her folds. She swears she sees stars among the candlelight when he touches her there repeatedly, and she begins to clench around him. He moans around her and she grabs at his back, rolling her hips to meet his growing speed, his rhythm breaking as his hips stuttered. He pushed once more into her, going deeper than he had before and stealing a gasp from Sansa’s lips. He rubs his thumb faster and faster, even after he has spilled his seed inside of her.

It’s only when her back arches and she feels her body seize with pleasure that he finally pulls himself out of her body. As she catches her breath Tyrion pulls himself out of her body and pushes at her knee until she puts her leg down straight and he can roll to the side. 

His breathing is as heavy as hers, but soon it slows and she can hear Tyrion start snoring. With a sigh, Sansa rolls to her side too, but she sits up on the edge. It feels stretched and sore between her legs and she can feel some of his seed drip out of her. Looking over her shoulder, she stares at the spot of blood on her mattress. It seemed not long ago at all that she had been trying to cut another bloodstain from her bed. This time, the blood would be her protection. She would be left alone by Tywin, her duty done. She was a Lannister for true now.

She leans forward and puts her face in her hands and cries. Her family would never have her now even if Robb did defeat the Lannisters. She only wishes she could write to them, to tell them how sorry she was for all her foolish choices and that she prayed every day for their safety and victory. 

She loved Robb, she wanted him to win, but right now all she wanted was her mother more than anyone. She felt so confused.

When her tears have dried she stands from the bed grabs her satin robe and pulls it over herself before she walks to the wash basin. Sansa dips a cloth in the bowl and first wipes at her face before cleaning herself between her legs. Sansa then takes the rest of her hair down and runs a brush through the red locks until her hair feels silky just like her mother taught her. Once done with that she opens the door to the adjoining room. It’s hers.

The room is beautiful, decorated in pale gold and lavender, furnished by dark wood furniture with embroidered cushions. The bed is not four poster like Tyrion’s but has a beautiful cornice canopy of white lace.

The layout is much the same as her husbands and she crosses the distance of the room to get to the trunk at the end of the bed. Her belongings had been brought during the wedding to her new room. She does not have much, though Cersei had called her seamstress to custom new gowns for her after she had been set aside by Joffrey. It was a relief, the new gowns, her old ones were becoming too small. She had grown taller again and her breasts too had grown so that it was uncomfortably tight.

She opens the trunk and pulls from it the doll her father gave her and a clean chemise. She puts the doll down and disrobes again to change into the clean dress. Then she crawls beneath the gold and white silk and lavender duvet, curling with her doll in her arms. 

The next few months up to the Kings and Margaery’s wedding is full of rushed energy and plenty of distraction. After her own wedding, Sansa spent weeks categorizing and taking inventory of all the gifts they received and making sure to send individual notes to each House. Tyrion had not seen her near at all during that time until she came to ask for his signature on the letters. It was then that he asked if she might take her midday meal with him every day, so that they may not be complete strangers to one another in this unwanted marriage. 

And so they made an effort to become friends at the least. Tyrion was kind and funny and even made her smile at times. 

They did not lay together as man and wife again. 

Then came the news of her brother's death two moons pass, it is Joffrey who cruelly delivered the word of it. She learns later that Joffrey had been dismissed early from a council meeting and instead of going to his room like his grandfather ordered, he went to her, to terrorize her and mock her loss while she tried not to show her sorrow. Instead, she smiled and told him how happy she was he had defeated her traitor brother.

When Tyrion arrives and Joffrey is long gone, he finds Sansa vomiting into her privy. Shae glares at him as she held back Sansa’s hair and rubs a hand down her back. The woman was Sansa’s closest companion, and from what Tyrion could tell, the only one she truly confided her innermost feelings too. If Tyrion wasn’t as clever as he was, he might think he was jealous of his own lover's closeness with his wife.

After the horrible loss, Sansa barely ate anything and walks mindlessly through the gardens with Shae just a step behind her. Not even Margaery's company seemed to be able to cheer her up, and the future queen desperately tried. Both Shae and Tyrion try to get her to eat, making a joint effort one midday as Sansa took a meal by the sea, the weather warm and sky clear. A beautiful day. When they can not get her to eat, Tyrion asks for privacy with Sansa.

Shae was hesitant to leave, but she did all the same with a glance over her shoulder. She loves Sansa but she also loves Tyrion and there was a terrible quake of envy in her heart when she saw the two together. Yet even now, Shae would do anything for Sansa.

“My lady, I swore to protect you.” Tyrion tells Sansa, taking a seat at the table. “I can’t let you starve yourself. You seem quite nauseous lately though you have eaten little to nothing. I worry about your health.”

Sansa did not. Not even for the life inside her womb. Her moon blood had yet to come since before her marriage. She is with child. She must be. A lion in a wolf's belly. She says nothing of it to Tyrion, and hides the truth, hoping the babe is lost within the first three moons like many are.

“My Lady, I am your husband, let me help you.” his voice is a soft plead, sincere as he puts his hand on hers.

She takes it away, putting it on her lap.

“How can you help me?” she looks at him, eyes rimmed red from crying and lack of sleep. 

“I don’t know, but I can try.” he says, his eyes are pleading with her to let him in. But she can not, no matter the moments they’ve shared, the platonic affection, he is a Lannister and his family has murdered hers.

“I stay up, all night, staring up at my ceiling and think of how they died.” her voice shakes, but no tears come, she has no more to shed. 

“I can get you domr essence of nightshade, it will help you sleep.” he offers.

Sansa’s lips curl, almost in a snarling fashion. “I don't want to sleep. If I sleep I only dream of them. Of my father, my mother and brothers, and sister.”

Finally, she looks at him. “Did they tell you what they did to my brother?”

Tyrion can’t help now but look away from her.

“They sowed his Direwolves head to his body and strung him up like a puppet.” she feels nauseous, but it is not from the babe in her belly. 

A tear slips down her cheek.

“And my mother, they cut her throat down to the bone and threw her body in the river.” she ducks her head, stares at the lemon cakes in front of her. Her mother would only ever let her have them after she had eaten everything on her plate first.

Suddenly, she can’t control herself, she gives a howl of anguish and stands, swiping the plates and cups off the table. Finally, she shows herself to him, her armor gone and the angry, sad child is at last seen in all her tragic beauty. It startles Tyrion, but he does not try to stop her or persuade her to cease. She needs this, he knows and when she does calm down on her own, dropping to her knees and sobbing into her hands he goes to her. He puts his arms around her shoulders in an attempt at a comforting embrace.

“I will be the first to say, what was done to your family, was a terrible crime.” he said softly to her, holding her gently.

“I did not know you’re brother, only met him briefly upon my return from The Wall. But I felt he was a good man.” he told her. “I did know your mother better though.

“I admired her.” he continued to say. “She wanted to have me executed, but I admired her.” 

She felt him shrug and knew he was trying to make her laugh, but she just couldn’t.

“She was a strong woman,” he said, nodding to himself. “And she was fierce when it came to protecting her children.”

He leaned away from her, and touched her cheek. “Sansa.”

She looked up at him. “Your mother would want you to carry on. You know it’s true.”

Sansa looked away and stood to ask to excuse herself. She wanted to be alone, and the Gods Wood was the only place people did not disturb her.

By the time Joffrey’s wedding came, she was not sure if she could hide her pregnancy. Shae had finally realized it when her belly had grown larger.

“Why will you not tell him?” Shae had asked her the month prior to the wedding when Sansa was but three moons along and showing. At the present, she was four months with child.

“Because it may still yet die.” was Sansa’s heartless response, though her belly was getting bigger and bigger. Her child still growing inside her.

“Do you want it to?” Shae asked, looking at Sansa’s belly.

Sansa wasn’t sure anymore. It would be the only family she had, true family if it was born healthy and lived long.

“Why did you just not tell me when you realized what was happening, I would have brought you moon tea.” Shae told her, hating to see her girl so sad and conflicted. It made her vulnerable, she wasn’t as guarded in this state. She had to be careful, had to keep herself safe. Tyrion had told her what Sansa had done after she had left them that midday. It was dangerous to show so much honest emotion. 

Tyrion had assured Shae of his feelings towards her when he thought she was envious. He was only doing as she had asked him, protecting Sansa. He had no control of her emotions though, and Sansa had been so hurt he couldn’t help but allow her to vent. He told Shae he saw Sansa as a young girl in need of protection as if she were his own niece. She had a snide and unsavory comment about that, even as she had mounted him like a horse and rode him until the only name he could say was hers.

It was hard not to let her jealousy show sometimes.

“I couldn’t risk the Queen or Lord Tywin find you sneaking it to me. I would not risk your well being like that.” she knew her purpose, why they had married her to Tyrion. Tywin would never forgive anyone for endangering the wellbeing of his possible heir and the key to the continuance of House Lannister.

“I couldn’t bear to see you hurt, or worse.” Sansa admitted, taking her maids hands. For she was more than a maid but her dearest friend.

Shae gave a quirky smirk and patted her cheek. “I have my ways around Cersei and the Old Lion. Trust me.”

Sansa did trust her. She was the only one Sansa trusted anymore even if Shae told her not to, that it was safer never to trust anyone. “You have been like mother and sister to me, Shae.”

The whores heart fluttered with bitter-sweetness. She had allowed herself to love this girl. Loved her so much she would kill for her, endanger her own life for her.

“Whatever you need, I will find a way to get it to you.” Shae promised with a smile.

“Just stay with me.” Sansa told her. “I need you now more than ever.”

“I wouldn’t think of leaving you.” Shae said, unable to see herself anywhere else.

But on the morn of the Kings wedding to Margaery, Shae was not to be found.


	2. Chapter II: The Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The torture that is Joffrey and Margaery's wedding.

Without Shae, Sansa was left worried and with new maids. Maids who took notice right away of her big, swelling belly as they dressed her. They all congratulated her and Sansa smiled and thanked them. They buggered her with questions on how far along she was. Four moons she told them. 

They frowned at that, scolding her for not telling anyone sooner and seeing the maester yet. The whole Castle would all know now thanks to the twittering of these women.

“My Lady you can not possibly think to hide the evidence of such a blessing.” an older maid stuttered as she made sure to use the half-corset, so as not to put pressure down on her belly. It was a strange contraption that stopped above her growing belly and pushed up Sansa tits.

A maid took out a dress that had been a wedding gift and insisted she wears it to the wedding. First, they put her in a thin, silky undergown. The main gown was a gold boat neck collar dress that laced in the back and had a curved hemmed opening that seemed to go right around the swell of her belly. The cutout in the dress started just below her breast that allowed pale blue silk to cascade down her belly and front of her legs. The collar of the dress was wide and round with the same style of sleeves as all her other dresses.

Thanks to Sansa's height, she carried the growth of her babe better well and it was why with the right choice of dress style she had been able to hide it for so long.But her belly had grown bigger and it would be gods near impossible to hide anymore, especially with the style of her dress. People will either think that she had gorged herself on food and become fat or was with child.

A knock came from the door that linked her room with Tyrion and Sansa took a deep, preparational breath in and out. The women squealed excitedly as Sansa gave Tyrion pardon to enter.

“Are you quite ready, my lady, we are--” Tyrion stopped, at his height, it was not very hard for him to notice the now obvious swell of his wife's stomach. It was more obvious to him when he knew she was a light eater for quite some time now.

He may have noticed sooner if they shared the same chamber, but they did not.He had only seen her naked the night of the wedding, and now she stood before him with a prominent bow in her back and swell to her belly.

“Sansa?” he asked, mind whirring. 

Before she could speak the maids were all congratulating him before fluttering out, sure to tell the queen and all the rest of the castle very soon.

“You are with child.” he pointed out even though the answer was already clear. 

“I should have discussed the issues of having a paramour with you, as it is something I would not discourage and would understand in our situation, but does require a great deal of discretion.” He said, looking from her belly to her face.

Sansa frowned. “I do not have a paramour. The child is yours.” 

“We’ve only ever shared a bed but once.” he reminded her, raising a brow.

“Yes, I remember.” She said with a blush. “My mother only shared a bed once with my father, their wedding night, before he went to war in the morning with King Robert. By that one time, my brother Rob was conceived.”

“Yes, I do recall hearing that was the case.” he murmured in deep contemplation.

With a deep breath of his own, he let it out and looked up at her with that clever humor in his eyes. “Well, at least my father will be happy to hear I am capable of fathering a child.”

“And you, why did you not tell me?” He asked. He cared for her, and he disliked how she hoarded her emotions and kept her distance from him. But now, they were not just married, but would be parents together.

“I was scared,” she admitted. “I am scared still.”

Scared of many things, of the trials of carrying a child, of being a mother to a Lannister babe. She was the Key to the North and she had unlocked the door the Lannisters has worked so hard to try and break through. This child would give them the North. Her brothers were all dead, her child if a male would be Winterfell’s heir. The Lannister would truly have taken her home, and with her help. 

“That it will be born like me?” Tyrion’s frown deepened, eyes hurt.

Sansa had not even thought of that. She shook her head. “No!”

A knock sounded at the chamber door, and Podrick's voice called to them. They needed to leave now if they were to arrive at the Ceremony on time. 

“We will discuss this later,” he was not harsh or unkind, his words were not meant to be threatening, just a fact that they would indeed need to speak more about this.

“My maid, do you know where she had gone?” Sansa asked Tyrion, not moving. 

He looked at her, a face of innocent confusion. “I can not be sure where they might have been assigned to go next.”

Sansa’s eyes narrowed in frustration. “Not any of the ones that were just here. I speak of my maid. Shae, the one that is always with me.”

Tyrion continued his facade and shrugged. “Perhaps some personal matter called her away.”

Sansa shook her head. “No. She would have told me.”

He frowned at her confidence in that.

“I am sure all is well with her. If she does not return in a weeks time we will find you a new maid.” he promised her.

“I don’t want a new maid!” she shouted at him. “I want Shae. She’s not replaceable.”

“Sansa---” he tried but was interrupted by his much more commanding wife. 

“Find her,” she told him. “You said it’s your job now to protect me but she's protected me better than anyone.”

She took a breath, calming herself. “Please, Tyrion. She is my friend and most trusted confidant. Find her and let me know she is at least safe.”

“Alright, I will do all in my power to discover her whereabouts and well being.” He swore, walking back over to her and taking her hand, stroking the top in a manner he hoped would soothe her some. 

She accepted his words and followed Tyrion, who lead the way out into the castle halls and out of the Keep.

When they arrived at the Sept, Tywin stood to wait for them.

“I hear we are to welcome a new lion to our Pride.” he said looking Sansa up and down. “You will see Maester Pycelle tomorrow morning. You should not have kept this to yourself for so long.” 

“Apologies, my lord. I was told by my septa that miscarriage is most likely to occur within the first three moons. I did not want to share such wonderful news only to lose the babe after.” she curtsied and apologized.

“Hmm. Yes, well you are a first-time mother. I understand your hesitation and fears but that is why it is important to go to the Maester for guidance.” he nodded. “But you appear more than three moons along now. You have no more excuses. The official announcement will be made after the wedding and the Maester has examined you.”

“I will also have my daughter speak with you so you may be better educated on what is to come.” with a narrow stare and bow of pardon, Tywin entered the sept and took his place beside Cersei. Sansa and Tyrion followed standing behind them to watch the ceremony.

When the ceremony was over, and the procession returned to the castle for the wedding celebrations Sansa was starving. She excused herself from Tyrion to sit first and he encouraged her to do so. They were seated at the same table as Tywin, Cersei and Tommen. The Kings Family. On the other side was Margery's with her grandmother, father, and brother. Podrick, loyal and sweet, would bring her a plate of chicken and vegetables. She thanked him and sat waiting. When her plate was placed on the table before her, she ate with the grace and delicacy of a Lady despite her urge to gobble it all down as fast as she could.

“Sansa, dear girl, you are absolutely glowing.” Sansa stopped her eating and smiled as Lady Olenna approached. She came around and Sansa rotated in her seat to better face her.“Being with child suits you.”

“Thank you, Lady Olenna, but I don’t feel very suited for it.” she admitted, looking down at her belly and placing a hand over it.

“I thought the same thing.” the old woman shook her head. “Especially when I kept getting bigger and bigger till I was sure you could stick a sail in my back and float me to Essos.”

Sansa did her best to smile, but she was not quick enough to hide the sadness and longing in her eyes from Olenna.

“It’s hard, to be without your mother to guide you when you yourself are to be a mother now. I know, child.” Olenna looked more sympathetic as she takes a twists of Sansa's hair, pulling it over Sansa’s shoulder for her.

“I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your brother.” Lady Olenna adjusted her necklace and tutted. 

“War is war, but to kill a man at a wedding...horrid” she shook her head. “ What a monster to do such a thing.”

She then smiled humorously, her thin eyes sparkling. “As if men don’t already have enough reason to fear marriage.”

That made Sansa smile. She liked Lady Olenna. She was frank, but she has a grace and subtle power that Sansa admired.

Just then, Tyrion arrived at the table, a goblet filled with wine in his hand already. He greeted Lady Olenna as he came around and took his seat between Tommen and Sansa. The two talked about the wedding preparations and money for a moment before Lady Olenna suggested that Tyrion might somehow find the gold to be able to afford a visit to High Garden soon. Sansa liked that idea very much. But too soon, Lady Olenna dismissed herself to eat.

As the musicians played their soft song, Sansa continued to eat and Tyrion continued to drink. 

When Joffrey had enough of the music he threw gold at them and told them to be off. Sansa tried not to frown as she looked towards Margaery. She was so kind to her, a friend, and Sansa hated to see her married to someone like Joffrey. But he was kinder to her in the regard he didn't disrespect her or have her beaten and hoped he would continue to be so kind to her through their reign together.

Then Joffrey stood, announcing to his guests that the Queen would like to say some words. Sansa smiled as she stood and told them all that the food left over would be going to the poor and downtrodden of Kings Landing.

When it was time for the fool, Lord Dontos stood before the high tables, attempting to juggle lemons. She frowned when Joffrey stood and declared a gold dragon to anyone who could knock his hat off. 

“My lord, I think I would like to take a walk.” Sansa turned and said to Tyrion after Dontos had run off and the next entertainment was being decided on by the performers. “Of course. Podrick will go with you.” Tyrion said, giving his support.

Sansa stood from the table and began a turn around the festivities. She greeted lords and ladies, asking after their family members and friends. She was for the most part very good at remembering faces and had paid attention to her lessons on the different houses so she knew their sigils when she saw them. She smiled and laughed with lords and ladies alike and accepted their congratulations when they asked after her stomach and she told them the news. They sang her praise and when she walked away they would whisper foul things about her. Nothing she was not accustomed to by now. She had learned to ignore it.

She felt a flutter in her belly that she mistook for hunger and asked Podrick to guide her to some food. He brought her underneath a long tent with tables that lined one side. A bounty of fruits, nuts, cheeses and cakes were plated all down the tables with bottles of sweet wine in between. 

Sansa did not realize at first she has walked right up behind Cersei and Tywin until she hears her family by marriage greet Prince Oberyn.

She listens as he introduces his Paramour, and smirks at the barbs he aims at Cersei. But she feels cold when he mentions the death of his sister and her children without naming them. 

“Nor do we believe in killing men and their mothers at weddings.” Sansa looks up, startled. She meets Prince Oberyn’s understanding eyes. They have both lost a beloved sibling and felt the heartache of being able to do nothing to save them at the word of a Lannisters order. The same Lannister.

When Cersei and Tywin start to look over their shoulders toward her, Sansa is quick to make her leave and return to Tyrion. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, putting his hand over hers.

She smiled and nodded. She felt fine. But not for long, as Joffrey called everyone to a quiet and a troupe of dwarf performers dressed as the Five Kings came galloping out, laughing and making fun. Her stomach turned when she saw the one with the wolf on his head. She couldn’t cry, she knew she couldn’t. She was not allowed to show sympathy for her brother, a traitor, a false king, but as the moment came where the Dwarf actor who played Joffrey knocked the wolf head from the other's shoulders, she felt the tears silently trickle down her cheeks. She could feel so many eyes upon her while Joffrey laughed so hard snot came from his nose as he spat his drink across his table. Tyrion is still in his seat beside her, glaring at his grinning sister. She wants to leave, she just needs to stand but her legs feel weak and her eyes won’t leave the mockery of her brothers death. She hates this, hates the king, hates his mother and grandfather, hates all of King's Landing who laugh and grin along with the performance.

When the performance seems to come to an end, Sansa is relieved. She quickly wipes her eyes and takes a deep breath. But then before Joffrey is about to give the performers their payment, he stops, talking about some fool thing about another challenger. Then he turns to Tyrion. He goads him about there being a spare costume and when he pushes his seat back, Sansa grabs his arm.

“Don’t.” she pleads softly, just wanting this to end.

He does not take her head.

“I’m sure, But one taste of combat was enough for me, Your Grace.” her husband says with a grin, but there is no humor in his eyes. “I would like to keep what remains of my face.”

“I think you should fight them.” as he says this Sansa squeezes his arm, wishing he would be quiet and take his seat again. “This was but a poor imitation of your own bravery in battle. I speak as a first hand witness.”

Sansa tugs at his arm and puts her other hand on her belly. She can feel a flutter inside and it scares her. 

“Stop it!” she leans close and spits the whisper. He only pats her hand like a child and so she takes it back, deciding to let him dig his grave.

“Please, climb down from the High Table, and with your new valyrian sword show us how a true king wins his throne.” as her husband continues to goad the king, Sansa leans back in her chair and takes deep, labored breaths while resting a hand over her belly.

“But be careful, this one is clearly mad with lust.” He nods to one of the dwarfs. “It would be a tragedy for the King to lose his virtue hours before his wedding night.” 

Tyrion bows his head, signaling an end to his clever little speech. As he gets back in his seat Sansa glares at him. She wants to ask him why he would so foolishly do such a thing, in front of so many people at the Kings wedding, when he did not have much protecting him. He was not the Hand of the King anymore, he had gotten her with child, his father now had no use for him to stop Joffrey from murdering him. 

When he finally looks at her, sees her labored breathing that he seems to finally understand the stress of what he has done put on her. He puts a hand over hers, looking apologetically at her stomach. She puts her other over his. 

“I’m sorry.” he whispers. And it is not just her, but to their child that he speaks.

“You should be.” She scolds him quietly. “Must you be so immature? You may stand as tall as a child but you do not have to act like one.”

She has never remarked on his height before, and she feels ashamed for doing so now, but if it will make him see the error of his ways that she will say what she must to halt him from further worsening both of their situations. And indeed it has.

Joffrey walks over with his goblet, and pours the contents of his wine over Tyrion’s head.

Her husband swipes some from his cheek and licks his fingers. “Fine vintage. Such a shame it was spilled.”

Joffrey scowls. “I didn’t spill it.” 

Before Tyrion can say more, he addresses Sansa.

“Congratulations, dear aunt, I hear I am to have a cousin. Perhaps your child shall be a dwarf too, ripping it’s way out of your cunt and leaving you to die screaming in agony like my uncle did so to my grandmother.” his breath is hot and he does not speak at all softly, letting everyone hear him. “But I’ll avenge your death and see the child’s head smashed in as the Mountain did too little Aegon Targaryen.”

Sansa shudders and swallows down her nausea as she looks at the rage on Oberyn Martell's face, his paramour's arms around him as if to hold him in his seat.

Even if her child was part lion, she would never wish such a death upon it. No matter how many times she closed her eyes and tried to think of it. Think of a way to get revenge against the Lannisters.

“My love, come back to me!” Margaery’s voice is a rescue, sweet as it rings out and calls for Joffrey to join her again. “It’s time for my father's toast.”

The dwarf actors make their exit then, and Sansa is glad to see them go as they re-enter the lion’s head in which they had come out of. 

Joffrey’s voice stops them. He does not return directly to Margery, instead, he walks in front of their table, swiping a finger along the ring of his goblet. “But how can we toast if I do not have any wine.”

“Please, can we go?” Sansa pleads with Tyrion and puts both hands on her belly. “I think I need to lie down.”

He nods, but before they can stand, Joffrey’s voice keeps them seated.“Uncle, you can be my cupbearer.” 

Sansa closes her eyes. So close.

“Your grace does me a great honor.” Tyrion says, accepting humbly despite the repeated blows to his pride that day.

“It’s not meant to be an honor.” Joffrey’s growls lowly and there is a long silence as Tyrion and Joffrey stare at one another.

“All the same, your Grace, serving you in any way should be and is considered an honor.” Sansa tries to smooth the tension, giving her best smile. Before Joffrey can say anything to her, Tyrion stands and goes around the table to Joffrey. Sansa watched him worriedly.

He goes to Joffrey and holds out his hand, ready to be given the goblet to fill. But Joffrey drops it. When Tyrion goes to pick it up, Joffrey kicks it away from him and it tumbles towards her side of the table. 

“Bring me my goblet.” he tells Tyrion when he stands back up. 

This time Tyrion is wise not to meet his eyes and makes his way onto his hands and knee’s looking for the goblet. Sansa can not bear to watch her husband suffer the humiliation alone after all he has done for her. So she stands from her seat, giving Joffrey a resentful and disapproving glance before she leans over and picks the goblet up. She brushes it off and hands it to Tyrion with a kind smile.

“My lord.” She tilts her chin to him. 

“Thank you, My lady.” he takes the cup and brings it back to Joffrey who then tells him to fill it. And he does. 

But then Joffrey tells him to kneel, and without words, Tyrion refuses and continues to refuse in front of everyone as Joffrey repeats the command until he at last shouts it.

“Look, the pie!” once more, Margaery saves them.


	3. Chapter III: The Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning, mention of late-term abortion!
> 
> I put it in the tags. You were warned so do not be mad at me. I will not have my comment section turn into a pro-life/pro-choice warzone.
> 
> Comment if your happy or have legit criticism but do not give me your personal/political position on abortion. Keep that to yourself.

The pie comes out, and with his Valyrian sword, Joffrey cuts through it along with a few now dead doves, the survivors flying free. Another pie, one in which the birds in the pie were truly cooked, was brought up to the high tables first on plates. 

Margaery affectionately feeds the king as they stand, a portrait of husband and wife, in front of everyone.

“Now can we go?” Sansa askes Tyrion again.

“Let us find out.” he says and stands, offering his hand as they go down the step of their high table. 

Only before they could make their escape, Joffrey was back. “Uncle, where are you going? You’re my cupbearer remember?”

“Apologies, Your Grace, but I need to change into fresh garb,” he explains to Joffrey. Sansa has stopped and waits back while Tyrion speaks to his nephew.

“No, no, your perfect the way you are.” Joffrey grins. “Serve me my wine.”

Tyrion looks briefly at Sansa before walking across the dais and taking the kings goblet from where he had left it on Margaery’s side of the table. Joffrey rushes him with saying how dry the pie was.

Tyrion hands Joffrey his drink and does not stop his walk, heading back towards Sansa who holds out a hand for him to take. But before he reaches her he turns, to properly ask dismissal from Joffrey.”

“If it please, Your Grace, Lady Sansa is rather pale and tired---”

“No, no.” Joffrey interrupts him. He coughs and continues. “No. You will wait here and--”

He coughs again. 

And again.

“Your Grace?” Tyrion asks, stepping forward with a worried tilt to his head. 

Margaery looked at him with concern, putting a hand on his arm. “My Love?”

Joffrey takes another drink of his wine to try and clear his throat. He puts a hand to his collar and speaks. 

“It’s nothing,” he says but begins to struggle to breathe, doubling over and gasping for air. Cersei is beginning to stand from her chair, but it’s Margaery’s words as Joffrey looks at her that has everyone to their feet immediately.

“He’s choking!” she alerts everyone with panic in her own voice. 

“Someone help the poor boy!” Lady Olenna speaks next as Joffrey stumbles forward, away from his wife.

“Idiots, help your king!” Lady Olenna shouted louder, her voice hoarse with age. 

Other voices are shouting for someone to get him water as Ser Jaime rushes through the crowd, saying Joffrey’s name as he tried to turn him over where he was flopping on his belly like a fish. Cersei barrels though Margaery to Joffrey, pulling him over and onto her back, pushing her twin away from her son. 

Joffrey was clawing at his throat, nails tearing bloody lines into his own flesh as he turned purple and his mouth foamed. Sansa watches, there is a shock that tightens at her chest and a giddiness that makes her belly flutter. 

“Come with me now.” Sansa startles and looks behind her to see Ser Dontos, still in his fools garb. “If you want to live we have to go now.”

She stays until Joffrey’s body goes still, the gurgling choking sounds ceased. Cersei cries poison, turning hateful gaze on Tyrion who had picked up Joffrey’s fallen goblet. She orders his arrest and three Kings Guard has their hands on him, holding him.

“We need to go, now!” before she can the right and wrong of leaving her husband as he is arrested, Ser Dontos is grabbing her arm and forcibly pulling her away. 

She runs with him, following him down and then into the city. He gives her a cloak to toss over herself and tells her to make sure to cover her hair. He too throws away his jester hat and ornaments. He hand is once again in his and they are running again. The bells have already begun to toll for Joffre’ys death as they make their way through every narrow passage Sansa can imagine, following ser Dontos who holds her hand almost delicately as he leads her. 

They make it to the edge of the city, where the sea beats against rocks and leads her down a bluff carefully. Over the rocks they go until they find a pair of stone stairs that lead down just below a bridge. A boat is tied, waiting for them.

“Quickly. In now!” he tells her, pulling the rope.

“Where are we going? Why are you doing this?” she asks him quietly.

“Somewhere safe.” he tells her. “Now please, my lady, we must hurry.”

Sansa looks back, her gut-wrenching. One flesh, one heart, one soul. She was abandoning Tyrion. She put a hand on her belly. Her child fluttered.

Love no one but your children, Cersei had once told her. 

She got in the boat. 

When they arrived at a larger ship Sansa was proved once more that songs were dead. Her Fool had only helped her for money, but he knew too much and Petyr had him shot and tossed over the ship into the water.

Petyr had not known of her pregnancy and frowned when he had realized her condition. He only said it would make travel more difficult. It was far harder to hide a made then it was a woman with child. 

He makes her believe they are going home, that he is taking her to White Harbor, instead he takes her to The Fingers. He reminds her that Winterfell has been burned and sacked.

Her home is gone and in her family's place now lives the Bolton as the protectors of the North. She can not go back. Not yet.

“We won’t stay here long. A mere few days at most.” he tells her when she comments on the bleak and meanness of the fingers upon their approach the smallest of the fingers.

He continues to explain that they will be traveling to the Vale to see her aunt. But first, it was wise to rest, lay low and then continue on to their ideal destination.

Soon Sansa will be with family and her aunt shall take her in and love her. She smiles as she lowers into the rowboat, drawing the hood of her cloak over herself as they are rowed to the shore of the smallest of the fingers where a flint tower stands.

Petyr Leads her to it. A household of men and women emerge, bowing as they recognize their master. Petyr gives brief introductions, leaving his old wet nurse as last. He offers her to Sansa, to help her along her pregnancy. She takes note that he talks a derogatory way of his home. Sansa can understand why, it was a very dreary and lacking indeed of what she was used to, even in Winterfell with its dark stone and limited household adornments.

It was evening now and a supper had been prepared. A bowl of soup was placed in front of her and Petyr poured her some wine. After all their meal was set the servants were dismissed and the two were left alone.

“To be truthful, I did not expect you to allow the Dwarf between your legs.” Sansa blushed at Petyr’s words.

“Lord Tywin was adamant about my maidenhead being taken. I feared what he might do if we did not consummate the marriage.” she justified her reason.

“Hmm.” Petyr hummed and took a bite of some of the stale bread they had. “Yes, I understand the sense in such urgency. He did not want to lose you to another house, which he very well could if your marriage was not proven valid.”

“How many times did he fuck you?” Petyr did not censor his words, and he seemed to enjoy seeing Sansa blush.

“Just once, My Lord. The first night.” she told him and Petyr raised his brows in shock.

“Truly?” he asked. “Just once to get you with child?”

She nods, embarrassed. 

“That is special indeed.” he murmured. “You have a quick womb.”

Sansa supposed that was something a woman might be happy about. 

“Do you want it gone. I can give you moontea. It will rid you of the child. But this far along, a maester will have to take the body the babe from your womb.” as Petyr said this, the image that it conjured in her head made her nauseous and she pardon herself to vomit it a wash basin.

“I am so sorry, My Lord.” she apologized grievously. Petyr only stood and handed her a handkerchief to wipe her mouth.

“No need to be sorry, Sweetling. You found yourself in the nasty business of childbearing,” he told her, running fingers through her hair in an intimate fashion that she was not too comfortable with. “It was what you were wed for after all.”

“If you do choose to keep the child, it will be the Key to the West as you have been seen as the Key to the North.” Petyr says, a hand brushing back her hair, under the pretense of keeping any throw up from getting in it.

“What do you mean?” She couldn’t help but ask him to elaborate. 

“Tyrion will surely be executed for the murder of Joffrey. Tommen, will marry Margaery and become king while Jaime is still a King's Guard. Both are unable to inherit Casterly Rock. And as women, Cersei nor Myrcella can not inherit the West lest one of them has a son and Myrcella is still only betrothed to Trystane Martell and Cersei refuses to be sold off like cattle and remarried to whoever her fathers choose for her again.” A smirk slides up his lips.

“Your child is a trueborn Lannister, if a boy, he can inherit Casterly Rock. Tywin is not a young man anymore and he is well aware of that fact. All you need to do is wait, and The West could be yours once Tywin dies.” he said, fanning his arms out in front of him as if the land was right before her.

Sansa didn’t want the West. She wanted the North, she wanted home.

“Cersei would never allow that.” Sansa shook her head.

“Cersei has more enemies than you could imagine, child.” he told her, rubbing her arms. “She is not untouchable. Joffrey’s death showed everyone that. The Lannisters are weak, they are relying only on their reputation at this point and the wealth and numbers that the Tyrells lend them while they have an alliance by marriage.”

“That is why Margaery will marry Tommen.” Sansa thought out loud. 

“Yes.” Petyr nodded. “The Lannisters need Tyrell’s gold and crops. They have also garnered a great support from the small folk and high born alike that the Lannisters have little of anymore since the rumors spread of Cersei and Ser Jaime’s incestuous affair. Also despite Cersei’s and Tywin's belief that the peoples love is not necessary to rule, it does make it easier.”

Sansa listened carefully, taking everything as a lesson. She needed to know how to maneuver herself around Petyr like she had to with Cersei and Joffrey.

“By agreeing to marry Tommen to Margaery, much like how your mother married your father after your uncle's death, it will continue the great western alliance.” Petyr continued on. 

“I also recall that Lady Margaery adored you, she would never believe that you had any part in Joffrey’s murder. With time, she may convince the King to pardon you.” Sansa’s eyes grew wide. Could that really be true? Would Margaery go so far for her?

“Tommen will always listen to his mother before anyone, and even after I married Tyrion all the realm thinks I’m nothing more than a traitor's daughter. The council would not allow it.” she said, remembering how close she had kept the boy to her, not exactly coddling him, but shielding him from everything.

“A wife can be far more persuasive than any mother, for a wife can give him the kind of love a mother never can.” he told her in that sly way he had with words.

That might be true, in its perverse way, but Cersei had her son’s so tightly wrapped up that they either struggled until they break free and become Joffrey, or they are smothered.

She remembered the rumors that Tywin had found Cersei in the throne room just before Cersei was bringing a vial of poison to her son's lips. Margaery had said it herself, mothers raise sons, they shape the men they become. 

Sansa could not hold on to hope that Margaery might find a way to pardon her. Margaery had done so much to protect her already. Margaery may be a queen at last when she marries Tommen, but she would still need to contend with Cersei who would no doubt take control of the council and make sure the power stayed with her. She would never allow anyone to take another child away from her, not another one when she had already lost her two oldest. One dead and the other a daughter far out of her reach.

Her hand moved down, hovering just above her hips, fingers splayed as her palm slid towards the front.

She had not wanted this child before, struggled with the idea of it up to the wedding. Prayed, when she still prayed, in the early days of her pregnancy the babe would die in her belly. She had not thought she could love it. The thought of it had made her feel ashamed and dirty.

But she had much time alone, without anyone hovering during the ship ride, and she thought and dreamed. How could she only see the Lannister part of it, a part which came from the only good and Kind Lannister except for Tommen and Myrcella, and ignores that it was of her own blood too? This child was a wolf as much as she was or any of her siblings. You could never, wholly be one thing, not unless you were a Targaryen. 

Her child was her only blood, the only blood that would be by her side.

Her sister was somewhere out there according to Petyr, but she could not be sure she would ever see her again. The rest were dead, as dead as Joffrey was now. This babe and she was all that was left of House Stark.

“I wish to keep my babe.” Sansa told him, standing upright from the basin.

“Very well,” he nodded, seeming happy with her choice. 

Sansa understood the point he had made earlier, but he was taking a great risk in helping her. What else could he possibly want, she wondered. Did he truly love her mother and her family so much he would really go this far without asking for anything in return? No, she could not be that naive, she told herself. There was something else. Even Tyrion received something my helping her, her hand in marriage and her claim to Winterfell.

No one would ever just want her, it was her claim they would always seek. 

“What will be done with me and my child?” Sansa asked, wishing to think of something else.

“You can no longer be Sansa Stark, I’m afraid,” he told her. “Varys has informants everywhere. If Sansa Stark is even thought to have been seen by someone, the eunuch will know within a moon's turn. That would not be safe at all.”

“Then who will I be, if not myself?” she questioned with a frown. She understood, of course, but still, she was not so sure just yet. 

“We shall tell people you are my natural daughter.” Petyr smiled.

“You mean a bastard?” she said aghast at the thought.

That would make her child the bastard of a bastard. What life might be like for such a child, worried Sansa. She placed a hand on her belly at the flutter of life inside her.

“Well, you can not possibly be my trueborn daughter,” he said, not even blinking at her frontness. “I have never before been married, the realm is well aware of that.”

“No, you must be my bastard.” he went on with a wave of his hand, putting a slice of cheese over his bread casually as he went back to their dining table. “You shall be called after my mother, Alayne.” 

Sansa inquired if she could not be a trueborn daughter of some departed knight in his service. He quickly shot the thought down, telling her he had no knights in his service and such a lie was tall enough to warrant unwanted investigation. He explained it was rude to pry into the origins of a man’s natural born children, even among small folk, so it would be safer for her as a bastard.

“And what of my mother, in case I am asked directly?” she brought up the question, feeling it was one she may be faced with later. Petyr seemed to approve of her thoroughness. 

“You’re mother was a gentlewoman from Braavos, daughter of a merchant prince. We met in Gulltown when I had charge of the port and she died giving birth to you. You were given to the Faith after you were born and was never told your mother’s name.”

Sansa nodded and made sure to try and remember it all.

“But how do we explain my being with child if I was given to the Faith?” she said, trying to make this new identity a little more ideal with what she suggested next.

“And If I can not be trueborn may at least my child be so?” she asked. “Can we not say I was married?”

“I suppose we can say you left the Faith after falling in love with a Sellsword who took you for a wife.” he agreed and went along with her wishes. “When he died and you were left alone and with child, you sought me out. That was the first I knew of your existence.”

“Can you remember all of that?” he asked her and she nodded. She would go over it tonight in her head until she was confident.

“Thank you, Lord Baelish.” Sansa smiled genuinely. He returned her smile.

“You’ll stay with me and your aunt for now, until the child is born. I would not want my daughter to be alone during such a delicate time.” he smiled at her and cupped the swell of her belly while the other hand cupped her cheek. “And, so you are not surprised. I am set to marry your aunt.”

Sansa did not question the relationship and gave her well wishes that they both had a long and loving marriage together.

“Now, let us finish our meal.” he continued to smile and lead her back to the table. 

The next few days before they began their journey for the Eyrie Sansa, as Alayne, familiarized herself with all she could read of the Houses of the Vale. Knowledge was power, Petyr had said, seeming to approve of her reading when he had found her hunched over a book in the small study of the tower. She was relieved when they finally left the tower, feeling cramped.


	4. Chapter IV: The Eyrie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa meets her Aunt and thinks she's safe.  
> But is she?  
> Also there I forgot to mention that there are direct lines used from the books and show.

Before she left, Kella gave her womanly advice, having birthed many a child. It sounded awfully grotesque the way Kella and Grisel described the ordeal of birth. It terrified Sansa and she had nightmares of it, as if she had not already about what Joffrey had said to her at the wedding. She dreamed of him too, of his death and how it filled her with joy and bitter relief. Joffrey was gone, but still were her family. His death didn’t bring them back, but he had deserved it. He had deserved to suffer and he had. 

She had cried and laughed in her cabin aboard the ship when they had left, delighted and horrified by Joffrey’s death. She felt a lightness in her heart, knowing he was gone. That the gods had seen fit to punish him with a painful death. Though she knew it was not the gods doing, still, it felt satisfying. She only wished it had been by her hand, to look in his eyes, to see the light leave them. She sometimes thought of the sounds that he made thought, of Cersei’s screams much like her own when the executioner had marched towards her father, lifting up his own sword to bring down on his neck.

Now as she traveled to the Vale, so close to meeting her Aunt Lysa and little cousin Robyn, she relished in the thought that her babe would never have to know of its cousin Joffrey, of the monster that had wiped out all their family beside them. It was her duty now to raise a new pack of wolves, to make sure they made it through the winter that was coming for them all.

She had made her choice, she had chosen to have her babe. First it had been out of fear, fear that Tywin would discover she had been with child and had purposefully found a way to rid herself of a child that may easily be his heir. That she would be punished. But then, when she felt the flutter of life inside her womb and Petyr had given her the choice to rid herself of it, she had chosen to love it. To bring forth the small thing inside her into this world and care for it.

She had chosen to be a mother now and she had to be as fierce as her own mother had been, do whatever it took to protect herself and her child. Soon she reminds herself she will be in the arms of family again, that they will help her. She will not be alone anymore.

When they depart the fingers she is given a few plain dresses that Lord Baelish happened to have. Sansa didn’t believe they belonged to Kella, though plan the fabric was of too fine quality of a servant to have. It raised more questions about Lord Baelish, but Sansa did not speak them. She also kept her hair in a plait that followed the line of her spine down her back. As they traveled she kept a shabby cloak over herself, making sure that her hair was hidden.

Petyr said red hair as hers would be easy to spot and all the easier it would be to realize who she might be. A wanted woman who had kidnapped the child still in her womb. Too many people had seen her belly and she herself had confirmed the news to many parties at the Kings Wedding. The news would spread like wildfire from their lips across the country. 

After a few days they arrive at the pass of the Bloody Gate, the only way to the Eyrie. As they walked up the pass, Petyr told her the history of the Bloody Gate and of the impenetrable fortress that was the Eyrie a place that in a thousand years had never once been overtaken it great and treacherous mountains seeing to its protection. Any army would have to go through the pass to the Bloody gates. Looking up Sansa saw the hills on either side, lined with archers. Even if an army held their shields above their heads they could be crushed by carefully pushed boulders. Never to see the Eyrie. The only possible thing that could reach the Eyrie was a dragon, easily able to fly over the mountains and to the keep at the top.

Know your strengths and use them wisely, one man can be worth ten thousand. Sansa took Petyr’s words to heart, not knowing exactly what her strengths were but taking the hint that she should be quick to discover them.

The commander of the Gate, as they reached it, commanded who it was that wished to pass through. After declaring himself, he introduced Sansa.

“And my bastard, Alayne Stone.” The commander seemed to raise his brow at that, surprised but unquestioning. Sansa kept her head down and cloak held wrapped around herself, hiding her belly. She could feel the judging eyes. 

The commander shouted something and the men at top relaxed, changing from an offensive to a defensive pose as the gate lifted for them. The Commander welcomed Lord Baelish back and the two continued up the road until they reached the Gates of the Moon, a castle at the base of the Giant’s Lance. Upon their arrival they are greeted by the castles mistress, Lady Myranda Royce, Daughter of Lord Nestor Royce. She is a short and buxom woman with a small, full mouth, rosy cheeks, brown eyes and thick brown, curly hair. 

“Lord Baelish, it is so good that you have returned!” Myranda gives a loud and warm welcome, ushering the two into the warmer corridors of the castle. “Lady Arryn is always so lonesome when you leave.”

“You know, she’s even accused me of hiding you away down here for myself.” she told him with a loud laugh that made the top of her large breasts jiggle as she leads them in further. 

“My apologies for your troubles, Lady Myranda.” Petyr said following her though he already knew the way. 

“Don’t be silly!” she let out another laugh, shorter and higher this time. “Our lady simply adores you is all, and she was never like this with Lord Arryn that I know of. As long as she’s not threatening to throw me out the Moon Door I have no qualms.”

“But I must ask, for the sake of our Dear Lady of the Vale, who is this that you have brought with you?” The mirth seemed to leave Myranda as she eyed Sansa, who still stayed hidden beneath her cloak, the hood up and the front held closed.

“Apologies, Lady Mryanda.” Petyr tilted his chin a little. “This is my daughter.”

Myranda stopped at that, turning to exam the girl closer, as much as she was allowed to that is by the cloak covering her.

“Alayne, we mustn't forget our manners now. Introduce yourself.” Petry tutted, speaking to her like a child. She resisted looking sharply up at him and instead nodded her head in a bow to Myranda.

“I am Alayne Stone, my Lady. Pleasant greetings upon you and your house.” she then curtsied.

“A bit shy, but her curtsey was impeccable.” she nodded approvingly. “Where have you been hiding this daughter of yours, Lord Baelish?” 

“I had a brief tryst with a woman in Gulltown, and I mean brief so I was not there when my lover had realized she was with child.” he explained. He knew Myranda would ask, she perhaps would be the only one to do so. She was a nosy woman and without a husband to occupy her. “ I only recently learned of her when she wrote to me for help.”

“Help?” Myranda frowned. “Dear girl, what sort of trouble are you possibly in?”

Myranda was a clever and in quizzical creature born of boredom since her husband died on top of her during sex and being the caretaker of the Gates of the Moon for her father. She was a good person to have in your pocket, but though she could be coerced Petyr had not found she couldn’t be bought. 

Sansa ducked her head. “I ran away from the Silent Sisters. My mother died in childbed, you see, so I was given to them. But I fell in love and married a sellsword. He’s dead now and I am left penniless and with child.” she looked ashamed as she glanced from underneath her hood at Myranda and brushed the front of her robe open for the other woman to see her swollen belly.

“Oh, you poor thing!” Myranda squealed and surprised Sansa by pulling her into her bosom. “Dear child, fret not. Your father here will take great care of you and your child and Lady Arryn is so enamored by him she will quickly welcome you into her house at Lord Baelish's request.”

She let Sansa go and looked to Petyr with a great deal of seriousness. “I would invite you to stay for the night before ascending the Eyrie but I think it would be best you continue. 

As I said, Lady Arryn has been terribly lonesome without you.”

There was a hidden message in her words that Sansa could not decipher. 

“I appreciate the thought, but I also agree it would be in our best interest to continue on.” nodded Petyr.

“How are you feeling, Alayne, should I have the Maester here see to you before we go?” Petyr asked as they continued through to the castle and towards it’s other side to continued the ascension up to the Eyrie.  
“A bit hungry but I’m surprisingly full of energy and I haven't felt any pain other than some aching toes from the walking.” Sansa was quick to say, she wanted to get to the Eyrie, to be with her aunt and rest knowing she was safe and sound again. She and her baby.

“I’ll have some fresh food put in a basket for you.” Myranda smiled and snapped her fingers. Suddenly a maid appeared taking Myranda’s order and rushing off. 

Myranda turned back to Sansa and put her hands on her shoulders gently. “Now Sansa, you must remember you are with child, you are allowed to be selfish so if at all the journey begins to become too much you must tell your father so you can rest.” 

In a strange way, Myranda reminded Sansa a little of Margery. 

“Of course, My Lady.” she said with a practiced smile. 

“Good.” Myranda grinned and tapped Sansa’s chin before turning back around and leading the way. 

When they finally reached the other side of the castle where the entrance to the goat trail that would lead them up to the Eyrie, a basket of hot bread, cheese, fruit and some cooked slices of beef as well waited for them. Sansa was happy to take it and almost immediately began to nibble on some of the bread, humming as the warmth filled her, trailing down from her chest to her stomach. The babe gave a pleasing and approving nudge. But strange enough, it felt like two nudges in two different spots. Her baby must really be stretching itself.

When they did arrive to the Eyrie Sansa was full and finally feeling the exhaustion of their journey. But she tried not to slouch as she followed Petyr into the incredible castle. Though it was the smallest of the great castles of Westeros, it stood out with its cluster of slim towers, all made of the same fine white stone. It was beautiful. 

Somewhere, Sansa could hear a waterfall.

Petry leads them into the castle, up more stairs, and finally to the High Hall. It was a circular room of blue-veined white marble. In the middle of the room an open hole, that she assumes is the Moon Door. Before them, along the curve of the wall stairs lead up to the throne of the Arryn’s where a woman who she assumed to be her aunt Lysa sits with her cousin whose head rested on her breast as she patted his head.

Hearing someone enter the chamber, little Robin Arryn lifted his head and opened his eyes. An ear to ear grin broke out across his pale, gaunt face and he jumped out of his mother's arm and ran down the stairs to Petyr.

“Uncle Petyr, your back!” he cried as he jumped clumsily into Petyr who wrapped his arms around the boy and lifted him up, patting his hair down as he lowered him back to the ground.

Still, up at the throne, her Aunt Lysa smiled down at Petyr and her son.

“I brought you a gift.” Petyr let go of Robyn then pulled a velvet satchel from his waist. He took from it a finely crafted glass hawk. 

Robin smiled at it and gave Petyr another hug for the present. 

“Lord Baelish,” Lady Lysa spoke up, her voice soft and filled with affection.

Her aunt was had retained her youthful skinniness and her breasts seemed to sit high in her dress which did not seem to have or require a corset. She was almost delicate looking as she began to descend the stairs with a straight back and gracefulness expected in a highborn lady. In her auburn hair, blue eyes and high cheekbones Sansa sees a bit of her mother in her younger sister and her heartaches.

“My Lady,” Petyr bowed respectfully, smiling charmingly at her.

Sansa stayed steps behind, silent and observant of the scene.

“Look at what Uncle Petyr brought me!” Robin holds up the glass bird for his mother to see.

“A beautiful gift for a beautiful boy.” She says approvingly as her silks swish at her feet on her way down.

For some reason, Sansa cannot contain herself anymore when her aunt's eyes land on her and she steps forward with a curtsey.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Arryn.” Sansa says eagerly. “My name is Alayne--”

“Oh, do take down that hood child.” Lady Arryn demanded gently. “Don’t you think I know who you are?”

Sansa does not answer, but smiles. A familiar warmth filling her as Lysa gets closer to the bottom of the stairs.

“Do you think I would let my intended leave the Eyrie on urgent business without knowing what that business was?” Lysa reaches the bottom of the steps and makes a beeline straight for Sansa.

“I let him leave the Eyrie so he could bring you here, to me.” Lysa continues, lifting her hands she takes down the hood from Sansa’s face, and pulls her fiery hair over her shoulders before cupping her face.

“My flesh and blood, back with your own at last.” Lysa smiles warmly at Sansa before bringing her arms around Sansa’s neck.

Sansa hunched over, keeping her belly from touching her aunt as well as just being taller than the other woman.

“It’s so wonderful to meet you, at last, Aunt Lysa.” Sansa says Lysa pulls back quickly, looking at Sansa sternly.

“You mustn't call me that in front of anyone else,” she reminds in a low cold voice.

“No, of course not. I understand.” Sansa says quickly.

“No one can know you are here. It would put us in a very precarious position” Lysa reminds her what she already knows. “We’ll have to color your hair, and you remember whatever story it is that Petyr told you to say to whoever asks you questions?”

“Yes, understand and I’ve memorized it well.” Sansa nods, though she doesn’t like the thought of having to color her hair. But she’ll do what she must.

“I’m so grateful to you, I would never do anything to jeopardize your safety,” Sansa promises.

“The Lannisters want to destroy us, they’ve been trying for years. Now they know what it feels like.” says Lysa darkly, walking closer to her son who stepped forward.

Robin spoke bluntly and without a filter. “My mother says they killed your mother and chopped off their brothers head?”

Sansa grimaces but nods. She needed to be patient with her cousin, no different than how she had been with Rickon once or with Tommen. But both boys were so much quieter and sweeter than what her cousin was showing to be. She wondered if Rickon would have been as tall as Robin was now.

“They did.” Sansa said in a small voice. 

“Along with my fathers,” she added sadly.

“They killed my father too, with poison.” Robin shrugged.

“I wanted to make the baby man fly, but mother said I couldn’t,” he said with disappointment and Sansa realized he was speaking of Lord Tyrion.

“Make him fly?” Sansa asked, not understanding his phrasing. 

Robing decided to show her. He walked over and took her hand, leading her to the Moon Door and tossed the glass bird out it. “See, fly.”

“Oh.” Sansa said.

“And on top of everything else, they made you marry that filthy troll?” Lysa face pinched in a frown.

“They did.” Sansa nodded and touched her belly, focusing on the proof of that marriage.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to dishonor our family, I only thought to do my duty the one time as was demanded of me. Lord Tywin said he would have be raped if I did not---”

“Shh, Shh,” her aunt shushed her, putting a hand to her cheek and another on her belly.

“I completely understand child.” her aunt said with empathy. “And you seem so far along now. Not much we can do unless you miscarry. Such a horrible thing, I’ve gone through many miscarriages of my own and would not wish it on you.”

“I have a plan sweetling, to use this babe to our advantage against the Lannisters,” Petyr said and her aunt seemed to forget her, sashaying over to him. 

“Of course, you are such a clever man. You would have a scheme in mind before simply just bringing her here. I know you so well.” Lysa praised him, draping herself over Petyr and leaning in for a kiss before her darling reminded her that they still had company.

Lysa turned to Robin. “Sweetheart, this is your cousin Sansa. But you are not to call her Sansa in front of anyone else but me and your uncle Petyr. You are to call her Alayne.”

“It was Alayne wasn’t it?” Lysa asked Petyr who nodded. “ After your mother, how sweet.”

“Sansa, this is your cousin Robin.” Lysa continued the introduction. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Robin.” Sansa curtsied. He was technically the Lord of the Eyrie. He may be her younger cousin but he was still due the respect of a Lord.

Lysa looked back to Robin. “Sweetrobin, take your cousin to her room won’t you and take the back stairs.

Robin seemed to begrudgingly listen to his mother taking Sansa’s hand in his and leading her away. Petyr assured her all would be well and to go with her cousin only looking at Sansa briefly before her Aunt Lysa took his face in hand and began a passionate kiss with him.

Sansa quickly looked away and started to follow her cousin. She had a room off the servant's corridor. It was small and scarce of furnishing side a bed and small side table with a single candelabra and a small window to allow a little, but some, natural light in. Something in her belly stirred as if the baby disapproved of the room as well. But Sansa could not complain, it was a safe place and the furs were of plenty on the bed so that was at least something.

Robin stayed with her poking at her belly and asking her inappropriate questions until a maid came to fetch him and put him to bed. They had arrived just as the sun was going down.

That night, Sansa lay awake while the entire Eyrie listened to her aunt screaming as she consummated her marriage with her new husband. It went on for hours.

The next day Sansa spent it in her room, dying her hair and eating her meals alone while her aunt confined Lord Baelish to her rooms for some post-marriage bliss without interruption. But that night, after Sansa had already supped she was called to her aunt's chambers. 

“That’s better.” Lysa said as she saw her nieces now black hair. “A shame, but this will make you far less conspicuous.”

Sansa gave a tight smile. Lysa put a hand on her back and lead Sansa past her bed to a table on the terrace of her room, the night air brisk but not too chilling to be unbearable. There were no maids present, and so her Aunt Lysa brought a silver tray of lemon cakes to the table. Sansa was quick to snatch one.

“Your mother had a sweet tooth as well.” Lysa chuckled.

“Really?” Sansa asked.

“Oh yes, at supper time she would go straight for the honey cakes, custard, anything sweet. She got so bad, eventually, your grandfather had to assign a septa to watch her eat meals.”

She continued as she poured some wine for herself and took her seat. “Cat was the first-born daughter, after all, it was important she remains desirable so father could arrange a good match for her. And she was starting to get fat.”

Sansa looked at her disbelievingly. “My mother, fat?!”

Sansa smiled, remembering. “She never let me have my pudding until I finished all my proper food.”

“This was before she married your father and moved to the North of course.” Lysa said as Sansa popped another lemon cake in her mouth.

“By the time you were born your father dexterity had become hers.” she told Sansa with understanding on her face. “Marriage changes people.”

Sansa thought about that. Had she changed in the time she had been married to Tyrion at all.

“How do you like them?” Aunt Lysa asked after the cakes, taking Sansa’s hands in hers.

“They're delicious.” she smiled but them looked out into the night. “I didn’t think Lemon tree could grow in the Eyrie.”

“Gods no, they can’t.” Lysa said. “Petyr had three crates shipped from Kings Landing. He knew you liked lemon cakes.” 

“He’s so kind.” Sansa said lightly. 

“He really cares for you.” Lysa agreed. “Think where you would be without him.”

Sansa didn’t want to, but Lysa said it anyway. 

“On trial for murder, though I suppose your baby would have kept you alive until it was born then they would have found a way to kill you. Most likely poison like my husband, something that would make it seem natural.” 

Sansa paled at her words.

“You’re right. I’m so lucky.” Sansa nodded, keeping eye contact with her aunt feeling it would be a bad thing to look away.

“He feels responsible for you.” Lysa continued.

“Yes, I know he does. I’m so grateful to---”

“Why, why does he feel so responsible for you?” Lysa’s brow pinched and she frowned at her niece.

Sansa wasn’t sure how to answer, she thought about it carefully before speaking.

“Well, I suppose it’s because I’m half Tully. And he loved my--he loved your family.” She quickly corrected herself, after all her aunt Lysa was his wife now.

But her aunt knew what she had wanted to say. what she had meant without meaning too.

“He loved your mother.” Lysa said sharply.

“No!”

“He loved your mother, that’s what you wanted to say.” she said sharply to Sansa.

“I didn’t mean it that way. Lord Baelish loves you, he’s married to you.” Sansa couldn’t seem to get the words out fast enough, trying to appease her aunt who has started to dig her thumps into the back of her hands.

“Your mother never loved him. Never!” Lysa hissed. “Cat always went straight for the sweetest thing. The most obvious thing, like your uncle Brandon. Handsome, arrogant. Wicked and cruel. He nearly killed Petyr in a duel, all for your mother, who still loved Brandon after what he did to Petyr.”

Lysa dug in deeper. 

“Now Petyr is risking his life to save you the daughter of a woman who never loved him. No more than those whores in his brothels. Has he told you about them?”

Sansa shook her head, trying to take her hands back but her aunt wouldn’t let her go.

“He’s never told you about the vile things they do with their bodies. The vile things he lets them do with their bodies.” Lysa’s face had taken on a manic expression that scared Sansa.

“No, Aunt Lysa. Please, you're hurting me.”

“Is it his?” Lysa suddenly asked, letting one hand go to take a claw-like grip on her belly.

“What things did you let, Petyr due to your young, pretty body for his protection?”

“Nothing, I swear Aunt Lysa, I only ever laid with one man and it was Lord Tyrion. The babe is his, I swear, please stop.”

“Don’t lie to me, I know if your lying.” Lysa continued to hiss, digging her nails through the fabric of her dress and into taunt, rounded belly.

Sansa started to cry. “He loves you, Aunt Lysa. All he says is how I’m a stupid little girl with stupid dreams and how I’m a terrible liar so I should always tell the truth and I swear to you he’s never touched me, not once, not ever--”

Then she was suddenly being shushed and her aunt was standing, holding Sansa to her breast as she cried, terrified of her aunt.

“Shh, it’s alright. It will all be alright, you’ll be a widow soon.” Lysa said as if to cheer her up. “They’ll execute that dwarf for murdering the king, and that old lion in his age will soon follow I’m sure and your babe will be heir to the west. Then after the babe is born you’ll marry Robin and be the Lady of the Vale, hmm?”

Sansa was horrified at the thought of marrying Robin, the boy was sickly and had a brashness that his mother had let get out of control. And he was a child. 

After that night, Sansa tried to avoid Lord Baelish, not wanting to give her Aunt any reason to suspect an affair between the two of them. Instead, she focused on altering some of her aunts' old gowns that she had given her. She made sure, just like Cersei, not to draw too much attention to herself. She took in the gowns just enough to fit her and blend herself in with the rest of the woman. S


	5. Chapter V: The Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit hits the fan.

It had been about two moons pass since Sansa had arrived at the Eyrie when the first snow fell during the night and in the morning the gardens were covered with a fresh, powdery layer of snow. Sansa’s belly had doubled in size and she was miserable. She had been bedridden with swollen ankles and exhaustion, barely able to get to sleep with all the aches and pains everywhere. Most of all was her back, her breasts too had doubled in size and the weight of her belly and them just felt too much sometimes. 

One month ago her aunts maester told her that she was expecting twins from the size of her stomach, the way she was feeling movement at two different sides at the same time, and using his Pinard horn he also heard two different heartbeats. Her aunt Lysa had frowned at the news and has a few nasty comments to make about Lannister twins. Sansa too felt disturbed as well.

What if her children grew up to be just as wicked and cruel? They were half Lannister after all. She started to wonder if she had made a mistake keeping the babies. Yet she still followed the Maesters advice, trying to stay well and strong for what the maester predicted would be a difficult birth. Sansa tried to stay confident she would live through it, that Joanna Lannister had, that her mother had birthed many children and came out stronger with each one. But she was terrified, she was at the start of what would be her 7th moon with child and it would only be a few short months after until her babies would be pushing their way out of her. Sansa was terrified.

With the encouragement of the Maester to try and walk around more, Sansa dressed in thick lambswool and doubled her stockings before putting on her best boots, one that went all the way up her calves to her knees. When she had woken that morning she had found it was snowing in the Eyrie.

It felt so long since Sansa seen snow, since the day she had left Winterfell. The flakes drifted down, soft and silent as her memories that seemed to swim quickly to the surface of her mind at the sight of the snow-covered ground.

Arya trying to make a snowball only for it to keep crumbling in her hands, the melted flakes in Robb’s hair as he hugged her goodbye. She had been so happy that morning, so stupidly happy. She hated herself. Hated how foolish she was to be happy to leave her home and family. She had prayed to the gods for so long to turn back time, to bring her back to before they left Winterfell. She would have begged to stay with her mother, tried to find a way to keep her family safe and together. But she kept waking up the next day and the next in Kings Landing. Now she was in the Eyrie, still far from home with a madly possessive and paranoid aunt for a guardian. She had tried to fortify a better relationship between them, avoiding Petyr and trying to spend a good amount of time with her aunt and cousin together. There were whispers that Alayne was so grateful to her father’s wife for taking her in that she waited on Lady Arryn on hand and foot. She poured her wine and brought cakes to her during boring talks with other Lords of the Vale and so on. Sansa knew how to play this part well, having done the same with Cersei. 

Sansa eased open the gate to the garden, stunned by the beauty of it. She held her breath as if terrified a single sigh would disturb the tranquility and perfection of the frosted wonderland. Everything was white and still, at peace. The snow drifted down shyly from the sky and what of it that blanketed the earth thickly was unmarked.

She didn’t belong here and yet she could not resist the temptation and stepped out, being the first to mark this pure world. As she felt movement under her hand, she thought how her womb was like the snowy garden, pure and innocent, sheltered from the harsh world outside the castle walls. If only all the world was like this, quiet and at peace, no war, no horror, no suffering.

Her boots sunk to the ankles in the snow, not even making a crunch. Sansa smiled as she walked further in, passing frosted shrubs and white cloaked statues. For a moment, she wondered if she was even awake at all, that she was still dreaming. But it was the cold of the snowflakes that landed on her cheek that made her believe this was real. They were light as a lovers kiss and Sansa blushed thinking of her last kiss, the one from The Hound. 

She lifted her face to the sky, letting more flakes land on her face, feeling them on her cheeks, landing on her eyelashes. She closed her eyes, and peaked her tongue just a little past her lips, catching some snowflakes and tasted Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams.

Her small smile soon became a grin.

With an arm around herself she braced her belly as she went to her knees and began to pack some snow without even thinking. She made some snowballs, round and white and perfect in shape. She remembered her childhood and the summer snows in the North, of being ambushed by Arya and Bran in the courtyard of Winterfell as she emerged from the keep one morning. They each had a pile of snowballs at the ready to pelt her with and she had not even one in her hand. Bran had been on the roof, perched like a bird safely out of her reach but Sansa has chased Arya all around from the stables to the kitchen. Sansa had slipped on some ice and Arya has come back to see if she was hurt. That was when Sansa grabbed her and pulled her down with her. She rolled on top of Arya and rubbed snow into her hair. 

When Jory had found them, he pulled apart two laughing girls.

“The two of you are siblings, you must always remember no matter how bad you fight not to make your mother's mistake.” she sprawled her fingers across her belly, feeling the life inside of her.

“If you fight, you must apologize to the other no matter where the fault my lay.” She continued, going back to packing the snow. “Your meant to watch out for one another, keep eachother safe.”

She put one snowball after the other atop each other and patted them down into a cylinder. She used the tip of her little finger to poke dents in for windows. She even did the crenelations. She had a vision and as the snow fell a castle rose. Two walls ankle-high, the inner taller than the outer just as she remembered. Towers and turrets, stairs and the Great Keep and with it the round kitchen, the square armory, the stables along the inside west wall came into being at her hands.

Winterfell.

She heard footsteps and voices, the rest of the castle finally awake. She wondered how long she had been out in the garden. Her gloves and boots were crusty white with ice and snow, which still continued to fall, and her knee’s were soaked through. Yet she did not care, all that mattered was the perfection of her snow castle. Inside of her, her babes seemed un-bothered yet by the cold of the snowy garden.

At the sound of approaching footsteps through the hall that lead to the garden, the one she had come from herself, Sansa turned to see who it was.

“Hello, Robyn.” Sansa forced a practiced smile.

“What are you doing?” he asked curiously, making his way over to her spot.

“I’m making my home, Winterfell. Or at least what of it I can remember. I haven’t been there in a very long time.” She told him.

“Why did you leave?” Sansa thought of brushing his question off, give some excuse for him not to want to hear it.

She decided not to tell him the full story.

“I wanted to see Kings Landing, so I asked if I could go with my father when King Robert asked him to be Hand of the King.” she hoped he would be satisfied with that.

“I stay here in the Eyrie. Mother says it’s dangerous on the roads and I have to keep myself safe because I’m the Lord of the Vale. The lord of the vale is a very important person.” he told her proudly.

Sansa smiled genuinely in amusement and nodded her agreement.

“Well, your mother is right. It is very dangerous out there and you certainly are important.” She said as she carefully dug the inner moat with a stiff stick, having forgotten it.

“When will you go back?” Robin’s question was innocent enough, he was an ignorant boy and not keen on the delicate nature of a woman’s feelings. Or anyone’s feelings at that.

“Probably never,” Sansa admitted pessimistically. “My family no longer lives there anymore, and someone burned most of it down.”

She put her hand to her belly, thinking of her youngest brothers who had been all alone, the last Starks in Winterfell.

“Oh,” for once it seemed that Robin had given a normal reaction.

He then leaned over the vast castle of snow, looking about it. “Does Winterfell have a moon door?”

Sansa shook her head. “No. It’s not high up like the Eyrie is to have such a thing, it’s on the ground.

“That sounds dangerous. How did you make people fly?” Sansa continued to smile good-naturedly at his eager, childishness.

“Well, Winterfell certainly does not have the defense of such a strong mountain range as the Eyrie. But it did have two strong walls to help.” she told him, pointing to the walls.

“But we didn’t make people fly.” she shook her head.

“But what do you do with all the bad people, the scary people and the people you don't like?” he asked, packing some snow in a misshapen snowball.

“Well, the people who commit crimes are either sentenced to death or sent to the wall. But girls didn’t really take part in things like that where I was from.” she told him with a slight roll of her shoulders. She was starting to feel stiff having sat in one spot so long.

“Well, when I grow up I’ll be able to make anyone who bothers me fly. Or you,” he added excitedly.

“That’s sweet, Robin.” Sansa said.

“Mother says that after you have your babies, we’ll get married. When we are you can tell me if you don’t like someone and we can bring them back here and ‘whoosh’ right through the moon door.” he said and swung his arms down in an arch, as if tossing someone.

Sansa thought about tossing Cersei through the moon door, or proud Tywin. She thought of the smaller lords who had said horrible things about her to her face and behind her back. All of them falling, falling, falling.

“I think I like the sound of that.” she agreed.

“Then lets put a Moon Door in your Winterfell.” he said and Sansa agreed. 

“How about here in this big tower?” Robin swung down a finger at the highest roof of Winterfell, the snow all too easily collapsing at the careless poking.

Sansa sighed. “It’s ruined, I’ll have to rebuild it over now.”

She knew she was probably being unreasonable. If they were going to add a Moon Door she would have had to flatten the top down anyway. But she could only think of how without thought Robin was and how much time she had spent trying to perfect it all. But she didn’t get angry, she just wanted him to take responsibility. So when he kept denying that he ruined it she only got more frustrated with him and he with her as he began to shout as he called him stupid. Robin went into a tantrum and crushed the snow castle under his boot.

Sansa stood more quickly than she probably should have and slapped Robin.

She immediately regretted it.

“Robin, I’m so sorry.” but he didn’t stay long to allow her to make things right. He was running back into the castle, clutching his cheek. 

Her Aunt Lysa would be furious with her. What if it was one of her children that had been slapped by someone. It was only snow after all and she had acted like a child herself, calling him stupid like that over nothing. 

Sansa cradled her hand, her palm sticking beneath her gloves. She really shouldn’t have done that.

“Children.” A sympathetic, smooth voice said and Sansa turned to see Lord Baelish descend one of the staircases down into the small garden.

“I hit him.” Sansa admitted, ashamed.

“Yes, I saw.” He told her, not sounding very upset with her about it.

“I shouldn’t have done that.” Sansa persisted to admit her wrong. 

“No.” he agreed the continued. “His mother should have.”

Sansa frowned. Her mother had never hit her or any of her siblings.

“And she should have done it a long time ago.” He said, continuing his approach.

“But consider this a step in the right.” he chuckled.

“But if he tells Aunt Lysa--”

“Let me worry about Aunt Lysa.” Petry told her, pulling his sleeves further up in the cold. He was without a cloak or gloves.

Sansa looked down at the ruined snow.

“I was trying to remember what it looked like.” She explained. 

She sadly added. “I’ll never see it again and my babes will never get to see it at all.”

Petyr seemed to think about that.

“A lot can happen between now and never.” he told her.

Sansa looked up at him, wondering what he could possibly be thinking, planning.

“If you want to build a better home, you first must demolish the old one. You can think of what happened to Winterfell as a tragedy or an opportunity for rebirth.” he came closer to her and as he spoke of rebirth he put a hand on her stomach. Sansa was proud when she didn’t flinch.

Sansa looked into his eyes, face stoney.

She asked him why he really killed Joffrey and Petyr told her again how he loved her mother, loved her more than she would ever know. 

“Given the opportunity, what do we do to the ones that hurt those we love?” he asked her.

Sansa didn’t answer, but after a moment of him carefully watching her, her lips turned up. 

Then he talked about a better world, where love could overcome strength and duty and how she could have been his child in that world. But they didn’t live in that world. Just after saying that, he kissed her. Sansa stood frozen to stunned to move. It was brief, chaste but it was like being burned and Sansa pulled away, putting a hand on Petyr’s chest. She tried to hide her revulsion, but she was sure some came through and yet he seems nonplussed by her reaction.

“I’m cold. I should go back inside.” Sansa said and quickly made her escape. She rubbed her lips clean once he could not see.

What followed that kiss was pure disaster.

Her Aunt Lysa had called her to the High Hall. Sansa changed into a dry, warm dress and brushed out her frizzy hair. She had colored it again the morning before. The color was not too long lasting and her red hair was tenacious in trying to beat the black of the dye.

When Sansa arrived at the Great Hall and saw her aunt alone, her back to her and standing by the open Moon Door. Sansa felt something was wrong.

“You wanted to see me, Aunt Lysa?” Sansa inquired, waddling in at this point.

“Come here, Sansa.” Her aunt commanded her and Sansa went to her, though with some hesitance. 

Once at her side, Lysa asked if she knew how far the fall down from the Moon Door was. Sansa, of course, did not know and Lysa admitted that neither did she in precise measurements. Hundreds of feet she presumed. Sansa continued to pale as her aunt continued to talk about what happened to the body on the way down and once it hit the ground. It was all so disturbing and Sansa who at the time, did not know her aunt had seen Petyr kiss her, wondering what prompted such a topic.

Sansa’s stomach twisted, as if her babies could hear and understand, just as unnerved as she was by the conversation.

“I know what you did.” her Aunt Lysa finally got to the point, voice calm but Sansa could read the restrained rage between the words.

Petyr had said he would talk to Lysa, but Sansa should still have expected this conversation.

“I am so sorry, Aunt Lysa. I should have never hit Robin, it will never happ---”

“Don’t you play coy with me you little whore!” Lysa turned on Sansa, seething.

“You kissed him. You kissed Petyr!” Sansa’s eyes went wide.

“No!” Sansa said, her hands unconsciously cradling her belly as if to protect her babies from her aunts raging voice. “No, you misunderstand. It’s not what you think.”

Lysa’s hand whipped out, snatching hold of one of Sansa’s forearms, pulling her closer to her.

“I saw you!” She told Sansa, her eyes crazed. “You can’t lie to me because I saw it with my own eyes.”

“I didn’t kiss him, Aunt Lysa, he kissed me. I pulled away---”

Lysa snatched Sansa’s by the back of her hair, gripping at the roots with a death grip. With a strong enough yank and with the extra weight of her stomach, it wasn’t too hard to bring Sansa down. She held her on the edge of the Moon Door. Sansa gripped the edge, pushing back as her weight and Lysa kilted her forward.

“Liar, whore! He’s mine!” Lysa roared. “My father, my husband, my sister they all stood between us and now their dead!”

Sansa whimpered, tears quickly coming to her eyes in her terror. Sansa felt herself make water, her bladder already weak from the pregnancy.

“That’s what happens to people who stand between me and Petyr!” she shouted til her face was red and veins popped up in her forehead. “Look down, look down, look down!”

The booming calm voice of Petyr calling out to her stopped her Aunt Lysa. He told her to let Sansa go.

Lysa didn’t let her go, not right away. Accusing Petyr of wanting Sansa over her.

He repeated his words.

Lysa told him that Sansa was just like her mother, that she would never love him. She admitted lying for him, confessed to killing for him all the while hand still on Sansa’s head, holding her over the Moon Door. Sansa shivered and whimpered, her tears trickling from her lashes and down through the open air beneath the Moon Door. 

Her babies, Sansa suddenly thought. Her poor babies to die in such a way with her. She never thought she could care for them, to feel attached when this all started but she did. She pictured a girl like Arya or boys like Bran and Rickon. She thought of taking them home again, filling Winterfell with laughter and love with them. She could rebuild, just like Petyr said. If she dropped, her body would break open like an egg, her babes spilling from her busted open belly with no chance of survival.

She threw up out the Moon Door, only staying up from her heaves by the hand in her hair. All it would take was for Lysa to let her go.

Petyr promised to send Sansa away, swearing on his own life to do so if he just pulled her back up and let her go.

Her aunt gave a sob before ripping Sansa’s head back, tossing her to the ground. Sansa braced herself on her arms, keeping herself from falling on her belly. She quickly crawled as far from the Moon Door and her Aunt, scurrying until her back was pressed against a pillar and her arms came to wrap tightly around her stomach. But she did not leave the room rocking and saying soothing words to her babes as she herself shivered and cried with the fright of what just happened. 

Her aunt stayed by the Moon Door, taking a seat on its stone ring and crying into her hands.

Petyr went to her as if to comfort her in her hysterics. He called her his sweet wife, his sweet and silly wife and embraced her before helping her to her feet.

“I have loved only one woman, I promise you.” he told her and Sansa could not see his face, but she could see her aunts.

Lysa smiled. “Only one? Oh, Petyr, do you swear it. Only one?”

Sansa heart clenched. Lysa assumed he meant her, but Sansa knew otherwise. A lump got caught in her throat, she opened her mouth but no words came. 

She put her hands to her belly, feeling her twins inside her. Her lips came together again.

“Only Cat.” and then Petyr gave her a shove and she was screaming as she fell backward through the Moon Door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. Comments matter. You can only kudo once(?). Even if your comment is super brief, just a "I liked it." It means the world to me.  
> Thanks


	6. Chapter VI: The Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa tells a lie and in return learns the terrible truth about what happened to Shae.

What happened after seemed a blur. 

Sansa briefly remembered being helped up by Petyr before guards came rushing in at the scream of their Lady. They found Petyr and a very shaken Sansa. Petyr said something to them, but Sansa could not remember what exactly. A maid eventually came and whisked her off back to her room where she was changed out of her soiled clothes and given a bath to wash the urine from her thighs. The woman, who was not privy to what had happened in the Hall assumed it was due to being with child, that it happened to some women, their bladders so sensitive.

She didn’t leave her room after, confined with food brought to her. She was told that the Lords of the Vale had been sent for, to investigate and hold tribunal against Lord Baelish for the death of Lady Arryn. As she was the only witness she was to remain in her room, with no contact with Petyr until the trial where she would be called on to speak as well about what happened. A maid whispered to another while setting her table about Lady Lysa’s suicide. She was sure Petyr had managed to pay her to start the rumor, hinting at the story she was meant to abide by.arrived, a week for Sansa to think about what she should do.

Eventually, someone came for her and she was brought to testify before Lord Yohn Royce, Lady Anya Waynwood and Ser Vance Corbray. Petyr was there as well. 

She stood before the three with Petyr at her back. Her hands rested on her stomach.

“You are Lord Baelish’s natural daughter, your name is Alayne?” Lady Waynewood asked her to confirm.

Sansa gave a timid nodd and Lady Waynewood seemed to notice that.

“Perhaps you might be more comfortable if Lord Baelish left the room?” it was more a suggestion than a question.

“My Lady, as you can see my daughter is in a very fragile condition and---” Petyr tried to interrupt.

“I was not speaking to you, Lord Baelish but your daughter.” Lady Waynewood said, her voice was soft but stern, and her eyes shot daggers at Petyr.

“He can stay.” Sansa finally spoke, hands nervously roaming her belly.

“Speak up girl, your not a damn kitchen mouse. Tell us what you saw.” Lord Royce spoke more strongly towards her.

Sansa turned to Petyr and apologized, telling him she had to tell the truth. Petyr said nothing, barely glanced up at her.

She turned back to the three and told them she would tell them everything. Lady Waynewood encourages her not to leave anything out.

Sansa swallowed and in a timid, brittle voice began.

“My name is not Alayne Stone, but Sansa Stark. Eldest Daughter of Eddard Stark. I’ve died my hair to hide my identity.” She confessed.

Lord Royce, we’ve actually met before. When you came to Winterfell on the way escorting your son Waymar to The Wall.” she looked at him, eyes watery under the pressure of the situation and fear of their reaction.

“Sansa Stark?” Yohn Royce said incredulously, examining her face before looking around her and putting accusation of lies on Petyr.

She agreed that Petyr had lied, many times. But it was to protect her. 

She gave a brilliant performance.

“Since my father was executed I’ve been a hostage in Kings Landing. A plaything for Joffrey to torture, or Queen Cersei to torment. They beat me, they stripped me in front of the whole court and humiliated me. They married me to The Imp and threatened me to lay with him less I am raped by another Lannister so Tywin could continue Houses line.”

She looked down at her belly and their eyes followed. 

“I had no friends in Kings Landing.” she told them as the tears began to stream one by one, slowly down her face. “Expect one. Lord Baelish. He rescued me and my babies from being used further by them.”

She looked at Baelish, eyes filled with gratitude and respect. 

“He saved me,” She said with a little smile at him.

Her ankles aching, she took a seat. She felt out of breath, which was common by now, and took a moment before she continued. 

“He smuggled me to the Eyrie. He knew I would be safe with my own blood, my Aunt Lysa. Because the Lannisters have friends everywhere, even in the Vale, Lord Baelish made me swear not to tell anyone who I really was.”

“Your secret is safe with us, my lady.” promised Ser Corbray.

“Your father grew up in these very halls,” said Lord Royce with fond recounting. “We hunted together many times.”

He gave her the smallest of smiles. “He was fine man.”

Lady Waynewood got them back on point, asking what happened to her aunt.

She told them how happy she thought her aunt was to have her in the Eyrie with her. But then when they had supped together after her marriage, she had questioned if her babe was really her husbands, accusing her that she had an affair with Petyr though he had not been present for her marriage for that to even be a possibility. Sansa told them of how jealous her aunt seemed to the point she avoided Lord Baelish so not to upset her aunt and tried to rectify any bad blood by trying to bond with her aunt. But she seemed unresponsive to her affections always looking at her with a suspicious gaze. 

She took the time to rehash the love story between her aunt and Lord Baelish, how much Lysa had loved him, how she did her duty with Lord Arryn but was never more happy than when she was finally able to marry Petyr. But she reminded them that her aunt had been an unwell woman, and her happiness only lasted a short while. That her aunt was a jealous and possessive woman. That she had been insecure and terrified Lord Baelish would leave her for a younger woman.

Then on the day of her aunt's death, she had seen Lord Baelish give Sansa a kiss on the cheek. It was a familiar token and nothing more, Sansa only saw him as a savior and godly Uncle. But her paranoid Aunt did not see that, only her husband betow a kiss onto someone that was not her. 

Her aunt Lysa fell into a jealous rage, called her to the High Hall to speak and started to accuse of her seducing her husband, had grabbed her hair and held her over the edge of the Moon Door while cursing her and calling her a whore. She cried softly in front of the Lords, telling them how insecure she had been about doing her duty with Lord Tyrion and how ashamed she had been for so long to be with his child. 

She had begged her aunt to let her go, told her she never kissed Lord Baelish that she had not seduced him but her pleas had fallen on deaf ears. Then Lord Baelish had arrived.

She spun a tale about how Lord Baelish just managed to calm her aunt down to get her to release her. Sansa had quickly crawled away once she was free but her aunt stayed by the ledge. Baelish tried to tell her how silly she was being, that he loved only her and had gone to hold her and bring her away from the ledge.

“She then told Lord Baelish that if he really loved her, he would jump with her through the Moon Door.” Sansa cried. “He tried to reason with her, tell her she was not well. A fever had made her delusional perhaps and she needed to see the maester.”

Sansa shook her head.

“But she just smiled sadly, and let go of Lord Baelish before stepping back out the open Moon Door alone.” Her sobs really increased now and Lady Waynewood stood from her seat to offer Sansa motherly comfort as she hiccuped.

Lord Royce and Ser Corbray watched and absorbed her tale, stunned but believing her tale.

After she was done crying, she was allowed to go back to her room. Petyr came later that night, all possible charges of murder let go. He asked her why she had helped him. As she knitted mittens she answered him with a question of her own.

“If they had executed you, then what do you think they would have done with me and my children?” 

He answered honestly that he didn’t know.

“Neither do I. But if you were to live, I have a better idea of what might become me and my children,” she said.

“Really?” he asked. “To gamble on the man you know over the one you don’t. Do you think you know me?”

Sansa looked up at him.

“I know what you want,” she said, eyes dark, remembering the Hounds words.

Give him what he wants. Make him happy. 

It was so hard with Joffrey, he was so temperamental but with Lord Baelish, in all his calmness, his scheming, she knew from his eyes what he wanted.

“And what do I want?” he asked.

Sansa looked at him, disgusted by this man she needed so badly to survive. She saw right through him, at least in this aspect of their relationship. She knew the answer but did not say it. It was in her eyes too, the eyes of her mother.

“I am having new chambers prepared for you.” he changed the subject.

“I would be very grateful for that, My Lord.” Sansa said and turned back to her knitting.

Silently, Petyr left.

After the memorial service for her Aunt Lysa, Lord Regent and advisor to Robin. The boy was more than happy with that, not understanding the situation all that well other than that his mother was dead and Petyr was the only person he trusted besides her. Petyr encouraged Sansa to try and mend her and Robin’s relationship, reminding her that other than her babies they were the only family each other had. And with Lysa gone it was as all was forgotten between Robin and Sansa. The boy attaching himself to Alayne’s side forcing her to take on a surrogate maternal role for the growing young man.

As the time passes and winter seemed to draw closer the castle began to prepare to move the household to the Gates of the Moon where it was safer and warmer. The goat trail up the mountain the Eyrie was just too dangerous when the snow began to really fall and it was difficult to get provisions. The Gates of the Moon had always been the seat of House Arryn during Winter and in summer they would ascend back up to the castle.

Sansa was with the first party that went down. Now that she was so close to her birthing date the Maester suggested it was in the best interest of her and her children’s health. Sansa did not argue and she was once more welcomed warmly by Myranda. The buxom woman had come up a couple of times to the Eyrie after Lady Arryn’s passing, and the two were now on closer terms.

Myranda had a lavish room prepared for her and the babes, excited to have little one in the castle and she dressed Sansa with her protruding belly in fine velvet and silk. Sansa pleaded that it was not necessary but Myranda insisted and reminded Sansa that such a talented seamstress as herself could easily take the dresses in after the birth.

Sansa started to worry some when she didn’t feel her babes move as much. They were usually very active. The maester smiled and told her they were getting so big now, they had little room to stretch inside her. As long as she felt some movement they would know everything was alright. He also probed at her stomach, telling her that the babes should have turned head down by now. After some careful examination, he seemed confident that they were in the proper position. He would have to check up until the birth, as some babies did manage to turn back upwards.

At night, laying on her side, trying to sleep Sansa thought on how she had once hoped with all her heart to miscarry those first three moons and now she cradled her stomach as if all the world was inside it. The thought now of miscarrying made tears come to her eyes and shame burn in the pit of her stomach. She wished she had her mother more than ever, to tell her if she were right or wrong. 

Had she not done her duty? Did she earn no merit or honor for it because it was with the enemy of her family even if she held no love for Lord Tyrion? She could not have imagined that the one time she shared a bed with him on their wedding night that it would result in the twins that rested in her womb now. Would her mother understand, would Robb have? Those kind of thoughts often haunted her at the most dreadful of times. 

When she couldn’t get to sleep she would speak to her babes, run names by them and feel for a possible movement of reaction. She told them stories of their uncles, of their aunt who may still be out their and their grandfather and grandmother. She told about them about Winterfell, of her childhood and what she hoped for them. 

She even told them about their father. That he had been clever and kind, not like the rest of his family. He had treated her well and he would have surely adored his children as he had Tommen and Myrcella. Would have spoiled their children with toys and books.

She didn’t let herself think of what could have happened if she had not gone with Dontos. Sansa did hold some guilt though for leaving her husband, who had been so good to her to face the claws of his family who accused him of murder. She knew he didn’t do it. He may have detested his nephew but he would not have murdered Joffrey.

Sansa was not sure what had become of Lord Tyrion. Petyr had told them, just before her Aunt Lysa’s death at supper, that he lost his trial by combat. The Red Viper was dead by the hands of The Mountain like his sister, Head crushed in by his bare hands. Tyrion was scheduled for execution but disappeared in the middle of the night, though not before he killed his father and his whore.

“Whore?” Sansa asked. “I never imagined Lord Tywin to partake in such a thing.” 

“He may have been counted as the most powerful man in Westeros but he was still just a man. Even in old age men still, have carnal desires.” Petyr told her as Sansa blushed.

“I believe you may actually know the whore. She was your handmaid.” Sansa’s heart stopped and she looked at him, shocked.

“Shae?” Sansa's stomach dropped. She was dead? But that couldn’t be. She was too fierce, to strong. It couldn't be true.

“She was arrested on a ship sailing for Braavos but brought back shortly after setting sail.” Petyr’s words didn’t make sense to her.

“What crime did she commit?” Sansa couldn’t imagine why she would have been.

“No crime.” he said with a shrug. “Cersei knew her secret and wanted the leverage that the whore could give her.”

“She testified that you and Lord Tyrion plotted Joffrey’s murder together,” he told her and Sansa shook her head fervently.

“Shae would never betray me.” Sansa said without a doubt in her mind. Shae had loved her and Sansa had loved her. She would have taken Shae with her from Kings Landing if she had been at the wedding. Would have been the first person that she ran to when Joffrey died.

“And you are right. She didn’t testify with the intent to betray you but save you.” said Petyr earning a confused look from Sansa.

“She was promised leniency would be given to you once you were found. That you and she would go to Casterly Rock and after your babe was born you would be exiled and allowed to go with her to Essos.” He explained, his eyes pitying.

“Foolish woman actually believed the old lion.” tutted Petyr.

“Then why did---”

“Lord Tyrion and she had been having an affair before and while you were married,” he told her and Sansa had already suspected as much. Tyrion had said her name in their marriage bed.

She was never upset by it. For the most part, it did not affect her in any way and they were discreet enough that Sansa never heard any whispers about her husband fucking her maid or any other woman.

“Lord Tyrion didn’t know of the deal your father maid with your maid and he didn’t exactly give her the chance to explain herself.” he patted her hand. “He was blinded by jealous rage I assume when he caught her in his father's bed after testify against him. He strangled her.”

Sansa thought of Shae, her strong, dependable maid, and trusted friend. A woman who would have killed for her. Who protected and comforted her. 

“Why?” was all Sansa could manage. Why would Shae do it?

“Is it not obvious?” Petyr tilted his head. “She loved you more than she loved Tyrion. She would have killed for you, including her own lover if it meant you were safe.”

Already emotional Sansa doubled over and sobbed, unable to contain her feelings in her temperamental state. She had loved Shae too. If she could have saved her, protected Shae she would have. She didn’t know where she had gone tho. She was alone and afraid without Shae with her, so she had gone with Ser Dontos. She had run, panicked and unsure without Shae to ground her, to keep her smart.

Now she knew what had become of her. Surely she thought it might bring her some closure.

“I’m sorry, my lady.” Petyr crooned as he rubbed Sansa’s back, taking her in his arms to comfort her. Sansa let him hold her this one time.

She had lost so much, she was not sure if she could survive knowing one more person she loved was cruelly taken. She hoped that Arya was safe and for the sake of her own heart and mind would make up a story, a song for her. Arya was gone, not dead, just gone. She was on an adventure, slaying bandits or something. Arya was courageous and clever when she wanted to be. She was a shadow, moving about the country or perhaps in Essos where girls could do more than they could in Westeros. No matter the way the song went, Arya was always safe and alive even if Sansa would never see her again.

It was better if she stayed away. She would be safer and happier if she did, Sansa was sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always felt that Shae had more loyalty to Sansa, so that to have stood trial and lied about her she would have to have been really threatened with something absolutely horrible or somehow tricked into believing Sansa would be safe.  
> Yes, Shae would have been smart enough never to believe anything Tywin said but I wanted to believe and hold on hope that she was a better person than to do that to Sansa. 
> 
> Just let me have this and go with it.


	7. Chapter VII: The Babes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The babies are born!!!!
> 
> I watched a lot of episodes of Call the Midwife along with reading a mother's true story about her birthing twins to try and get this close sounding realistic as I have never had a child myself and Hollywood movies are all the same sweating, pushing and cursing.

Her labor came in the night, waking her. The feather bed and the furs covering her was wet between her legs as was her shift. Sansa tossed the furs off her body and was relieved to see no blood. Her only experience with the wet sensation was from when she was a child and when she became a woman. The Maester said cramping was the first sign, but sometimes a woman's water would break first. Sansa knew what this meant.

Sansa scooted to the end of the bed, using the banister of her four-poster to help get her to her feet. She waddled over to the door that joined her room to her maid and banged her fist on the door to wake her. She heard the groaning of a person waking and then the shuffling of feet before the door unlatched and Jernina opened it.

“It is time.” Sansa told her, clutching her belly.

Jernina looked down at the wet spot at her crotch and back up to Sansa. “Are you sure, my lady”

Something squeezed inside of her and Sansa glared at the girl. “Yes, I am sure. Now go get the Maester!”

The girl floundered for a candle before running out. 

Sansa went back to her bed, crawling on top and laying back. She gritted her teeth and jerked with each contraction. It was so much worse than her lady pains during her moon blood.

When the Maester Coleman arrived he looked more nervous than he usually did. He always smiled and tried to speak with confidence when it came to his practice but his hands shook and his adam's apple bobbed too often from nervous swallowing. His long neck doing nothing to hide it. Sansa was somewhat relieved when he seemed to bring with him a midwife.

“Sansa, how are you feeling?” Maester Coleman asked.

“Um. I’m not sure. ---” She wasn’t sure how to continue to describe it.

“Are you feeling any contractions yet?” he asked coming over and probing at her belly with soft palms.

This was not his first birth and Sansa was happy when she noticed how steady his hands were as he took a bag from the midwife while she went around the room lighting the candles.

“No, I don’t think so.” Sansa shook her head. 

“Any pain?” He asked. “Discomfort?”

“A little.” She answered

Maester Coleman hummed, seeming steady and confident as he examined her. “I’m sure your labor will start soon enough.”

He then gave a swarm of orders for clean linen, the fire to be started in her room and more water boiled along with some cold water for Sansa.

“My Lady, I’m just going to cut your small clothes off. Do not feel shy or ashamed, I delivered your cousin and many other babies in the Eyrie.” Maester Coleman continued to smile, taking a thin, short-bladed knife out from his bag.

Sansa couldn’t help but blush and pinch her face as he pushed up her shift and cut the side of her small clothes. He folded the front forward then with the help of the wid wife turned Sansa onto her side. The midwife took the small cloth off from there.

“Now, lady Sansa, try and stay as you are. We’ll be putting some linen beneath you to protect the bed and provide a clean spot for the babes to come out onto,” he told her and Sansa just nodded as another contraction washed over her.

When that was done she was rolled back over onto her back. The Maester grabbed her ankles gently and pushed her legs up and spread to a ‘V’ and like it was a trigger, her labor started.

Contractions came one after the other, more painful than any woman’s pain she ever had during her monthly time. Each one was worse than the last. Strong, hard and unbearable. She had little breaks of rest in between until it was an onslaught of contractions. Sansa sobbed and thrashed her head on the pillow, begging for them to end her agony.

The Maester kept speaking, grinning as he put his fingers between her legs but she could not hear him over her own screams. She wanted to slap him, to tear out his eyes and then throw him out the Moon Door for not helping her. He was useless.

“I want my mother, I want my mother!” Sansa sobbed, reaching out as if Catelyn would step through the door and take her daughters hand.

But it was not Catelyn, but Myranda who came. She looked red-faced and out of breath with a shawl over her shoulders. She said something to someone outside before closing the door and going to Sansa. She had Jernina pull up a chair for her and sat by the bedside. She took Sansa’s hand in hers and patted her knuckles. Sansa squeezed her hand as tight as she could but Myranda did not even flinch.

“There you go, it’s alright. The Maeseter and Midwife will take good care of you.” She spoke to her as if she were a child, slow and soothing and Sansa wanted to scream at her and call her a fat cow.

Then she was being told to push, then not to push, to breath and then push again, then not to push and then push again.

“The heads been born!” Maester Coleman announced. “Now take a breath, babies have to be born slowly now.”

Sansa didn’t want slow, she wanted it to be done and over with. 

“Just breath, just breath.” the midwife and Myranda said together as Jernina wiped a cold cloth over her face and neck, wiping away her sweat and tears.

Sansa made such horrible sounds. She had never made such undignified noise in her life. 

“Deep breath now, Lady Sansa, deep breath.” Maester Coleman urged. “You’re doing so well.”

She didn’t push but she felt something and then there was crying, high pitched crying. A babies cry.

“Your first is a girl, my lady!” he said, looking at Sansa with a smile before looking to the midwife to come over. She took the baby and brought her to the table. She washed her and wrapped her in clean linen and brought her back over for Sansa to see.

“Oh, she’s beautiful!” Myranda cooed, eyeing the baby girl with her pink wrinkled face and little features.

“She’s so small.” Sansa whimpered looking at her daughter.

“Well, one of them had to be with so little room in there.” the midwife teased. “But she has a strong cry and I took a quick listen to her little heart and lungs. She’s alright.”

Sansa smiled, looking at her daughter. There was a moment of rest as her contractions seemed to cease for a little between babies. 

“Have you a name?” Myranda took the moment to ask.

“Shaela.” Sansa said breathlessly.

She had wanted to name her after her mother. Cathlinne was what she had picked out. But Petyr had told her that any name to close to her deceased family might draw attention as it might be obvious that the foolish daughter of Eddard Stark would want to name her child after her one of her traitor family members. But no one other than Petyr knew about Shae, she could get away with that name.

“What a pretty name.” approved Myranda, sharing a smile with Sansa

“M'lady, we’re not done. We still have one more babe to go.” Maester Coleman reminded her.

Sansa looked away from her baby and shook her head. Her voice was thick when she spoke next. “I can’t. I can’t do it again.”

“Yes you can,” he told her, and his hands were back on her belly with a frown.

“What’s wrong?” Sansa asked, voice rising, panic settling in as she realized something wasn’t right.

“Your second babe is sideways,” he informed her, face pale. “We can’t deliver it in this position.”

“No, I suppose I can’t!!” Sansa finally shouted at him, her eyes red and hair a crazed mess around her. “Fix my baby, put it right!”

Maester Coleman swallowed. “It will hurt.”

“It already hurts!” Sansa roared her fury putting him into motion as he came around her side and began pressing and sliding both hands around her stomach. She could feel her insides move, her stomach contorting to her baby. The process wasn’t quick, it took the Maester some long minutes to get her second child in the right position. She felt a rush of something flushing out of her before she was being told to push again, breath, don’t push. Breath, then push again, breath, don’t push. She felt her baby leave her but there was no cry like her first baby.

“Another girl.” The maester said but there was tone in his voice. 

Maybe it was just a disappointment for her that she hadn't birthed a boy. But it was something else, a voice whispered inside her head.

The midwife gave Shaela over to Myranda to hold and went to help the maester with her second daughter.

“Why can’t I hear crying?” There were whispered words between the maester and the midwife. The midwife took the second baby over to the bowl of hot water as she had with Shaela.

“Why isn’t she crying?!” Sansa shouted, tears pouring down her reddened cheeks from the strain of pushing.

“Is she stillborn?” Sansa sobbed, her chest shuddering, heart beating fast and almost irregular. 

“No, my lady.” Maester Coleman swallowed. “There is a faint heartbeat but the child is not breathing.”

“Then make her breath!” Sansa begged, haven’t even seen her second child's face yet.

“We are doing all we can,” he said, calm and patient with her.

Sansa’s heart felt ready to burst, she sobbed horribly as she looked at the back of the midwife.

“Please, Sweetling, breath. Breath for mummy now! “Sansa begged.

Still no sound. The midwife bent her head forward, pressing her mouth over the babes and blowing air into her lungs. 

"Please, breath." Sansa gave long, pained whine.

The midwife began rocking the baby forward, up and down.

It was torture, the waiting, the fear. Sansa's heart felt like it was being ripped out of her chest.

Stranger, don't take. Don't take my daughter! Sansa prayed.

'Call her name.'

Sansa swore it was her mothers voice.

“BREATH, FARRYN!” as if her name was a magic spell, there was a little gurgle and her second daughter was breathing.

Sansa let out a laugh that was half a sob, her face red, puffy but a smile stretched from cheek with joyful relief. 

The Maester stitched her somewhere in her woman’s place, washed down there too and then rolled over for the bed to be changed before finally at last, she was holding her daughters.

They were perfect. Five toes on each foot and five fingers on each hand. Perfect little noses and baby chubby limbs. Two ears, two eyes and perfectly round heads just the right size. So fragile yet so strong, her daughters.

Shaela had no hair yet at all somehow. But Farryn, she had thick wisps of gold hair. Lannister gold. And yet Sansa saw no Cersei, no Jaime Lannister or any of them. Instead, she saw her mother nose and Rickon’s ears. In the arch of her brow, she saw her father, Arya in her round cheeks and Bran’s in the soft curve of the chin.

She kissed the gold wisps and held her close. Giving her warmth to her babies.

Eventually, a nurse made was brought to feed Shaela and Farryn. Sansa insisted she feed one. Blushing she wanted to admit she knew it was improper for highborn girls to breastfeed their own baby, but Sansa reminded herself she was still Alayne. She could feed her daughters and no one would look down on her for it. She handed Farryn to the nurse maid and bared her breast for Shaela. The bald little girl seemed not to want to latch on. Sansa struggled, trying to get her nipple by her daughter's mouth, beads of milk leaking.

“Please, Shaela, you need to eat.” She tried to coax her daughter but she wouldn’t budge. If she didn’t latch and suckle no more than that little dribble of milk.

“Don’t worry about being gentle. You already have some milk flowing, just press your nipple right to her lips and once she gets a little on her lips she should latch.” the wetnurse told her.

“ Just press it right against her face. I promise she won’t suffocate.” She added with a grin, Farryn having no problem with her feeding as she latched right away to the nurse.

What if it was her? What if Shaela knew that she had resented her when she was first pregnant, what if she could sense her hesitance and didn’t want to latch because she knew. Somehow, she just knew what an awful person her mother was.

And yet Sansa persisted to try. She would make everything up to Shaela and Farryn, she would shower them with love and raise them aware of the world. She wouldn’t let them enter it as naive as she had. She pressed her breast to her daughter's face, trying to resist the fear she was, in fact, suffocating her. But then, after a little wiggling and tiny grunts, Shaela parted her lips and latched.

Sansa squealed. She was so happy and the sensation was also strange. Tyrion had kissed her breasts when they had consummated their marriage but it wasn’t like how Shaela suckled on her nipple. It was a strange feeling, very odd and a little achy. Her nipples had already become tender prior to the birth as was.

After a labor that had brought the birth of the daw with the birth of her daughters, Sansa was thoroughly exhausted. During some point she learned that she had fallen asleep while breastfeeding Shaela, her arms continued to cradle her daughter safely as she sagged back into her pillows. No one disturbed her, just putting an extra pillow under her arms to help support her baby while she slept until Shaela was full.

When Sansa woke again it was past the afternoon and Petyr was in the room, standing in front of the cradles he had commissioned for her. Her back was to her and his fingers were at the ends of each cradle, gently rocking the babies.

“Are you disappointed?” Sansa asked her hands going across her lap. Her stomach still had a lot of weight to it. Nothing good long walks every day wouldn’t help with, said Maester Coleman before he had left.

“Whatever would I be disappointed by?” Petyr smiled over his shoulder at her.

“You wanted an heir to The West, we both did. But I had not only one girl, but two.” Sansa said, looking past him at the cradles.

“In Dorne, women have the same right of inheritance as men. In fact, Arianne Martell plots to crown Myrcella Queen of the Seven Kingdoms over Tommen.” he told her with a look in his eyes. “Though I don’t know if she’ll succeed.”

“Dorne is not like the rest of Westeros.” Sansa pointed out the obvious.

Petyr breathed out his nose and left the cradles to take a seat at her bedside. 

“No, it’s not. But this world is changing. Women are rising in power everywhere over men. Take Cersei as an example, or Margaery.” his smile was like a razor, Sansa thought. Double-edged.

“With enough support and power behind them, your daughters can and will inherit the west. Patience and careful planning are all that is required,” he promised her, putting a hand over hers.

“You did so well, Sweetling.” he praised her. “Myranda is telling the whole castel how spirited and brave you were. How your voice calling out to your daughter gave her breath.”  
Sansa’s lips twitched. Myranda was such a gossip.

“The Maester also said you should have no problems with conceiving again.” at his words Sansa took her hand out from under his and tucked in under her furs.

“I don’t even want to think of having another child right now. Having Shaela and Farryn was a nightmare, I can’t imagine going through that again.” she blanched at the thought.

Petyr gave a little chuckle. “I’m sure all mothers say that. After all, look at Kellah and I offer her a ready supply of moontea.” 

“I suppose.” Sansa shrugged. 

“I never asked, but now that Aunt Lysa is gone. Am I still expected to marry Robin?” Sansa asked him, having worried about the matter for some time.

“As things are I don’t see any rush to make it an official announcement of such and betrothal.” he told her. 

Sansa let out a sigh of relief and thanked him. She would have her hands full mothering her daughters, she did not need to add being a mother and wife to another child. It made her skin crawl to think of Robin with his groping hands as he seemed to come of some milestone of a boys life that Sansa had no understanding of. 

She was grateful she had girls when she thought of how little she knew of men.

For convenience, the wet nurse shared Jernina’s room. It was a rough first few weeks. The babies were quiet things for the most part. Shaela and Farryn, slept a lot. But it was in naps, a few hours sleep before waking for a change or needing her breast before falling asleep again and repeating. And the Maester hadn’t even told her how much pain she would still be after. Then there was the fluid that still came out even after the babies were gone. 

Childbirth really was a messy sport. 

At night the twins barely slept at all, cooing and gurgling as they flailed their little arms and legs. Sometimes they wouldn’t settle down at all unless Sansa created a barrier of pillows beside her to lay them in the center of. Only then did they settle down for the night.Sansa had thought to fall asleep with them inside her was difficult but it could not compare to when they were out and able to cry. 

And for things so small they seemed hungry all the time like they could never get full. Sansa was sure her nipples might just fall off. The wet nurse offered some of the balms she used for her own breasts.

Sansa spent a fortnight in her room with her babies. After that she allowed Robin to come to visit her and the babies. Sansa was so scared those first few nights that a fever might take them. She hovered over them, so worried at the smallest sign of illness. But her girls were healthy. The healthiest babies the Maester had ever seen, he had said when he gave the ok for more visitors. 

“Can I hold one!?” Robin asked eagerly, looking between Shaela sleeping in her cradle to Farryn who Sansa was holding.

The thought of Robin holding any of her daughters made her very nervous, yet Sansa somehow found herself beckoning him to the bed. She told him to crawl up and sit as far back on the pillows as he could. 

“Now, see how my arms are crossed. Do the same.” she told him, watching carefully. “And make sure you keep them stiff, Farryn is the heaviest so brace yourself.”

“I can do it, Uncle Petyr says I’m strong.” Sansa resisted rolling her eyes. The boy was not strong, he was growing taller but he was weak. Her aunt had coddled him too much and allowed him to keep a diet that was heavy with her own breast milk. It was disturbing and the child had suffered for it. 

“You must be very gentle,” she told him as she carefully put Farryn into his arms. “Support her head, her neck isn’t very strong yet.”

Farryn stared up at Robin in wonder and Robin started at back at Farryn with the same wonder. 

Sansa watched them carefully, resisting the urge to take Farryn back immediately though Robin was doing just what he had been told. And he talked to her about games they would play, about letting her throw people out the Moon Door, silly things a child might say to another. It was endearing. She hoped that Robin would be righted, that it wasn’t too late for him to be raised into a decent man. He was her cousin after all.

Perhaps Petyr would manipulate him, mold him to his favor but as deceitful and rotten as Lord Baelish was he was intelligent, he understood people and their wants. He was greedy, but not too much to destroy himself by it. He was vengeful, but smart about it. Robin could benefit from him strangely enough as long as he continued to be of value to Petyr. 

Sansa bent forward and kissed Robin’s raven locks. “Always listen to your uncle Petyr. Can you promise me that Robin?” 

Robin tilted his head and blinked up at her. He was confused she was sure but she needed him to promise because as long as he always did what Petyr wanted he would be safe, he would be of use. Petyr would rule the Vale through Robin even if he never sat the throne himself. He was already Lord Regent for Robin as was, once Robin came of age and was Lord himself. The lords of the Vale were already in opposition about Petyr. They accused him of deceit and greed. They would jump at the chance to hang him. If anything happened to Robin it would be just what they needed to rid themselves of Lord Baelish, even at the loss of Robin.

“Of course.” Robin agreed. “Mother always told me to listen to Uncle Petyr and I do.” 

“Good.” she kissed his head again before bringing her attention to her daughter in his arms, smiling down at her. 

She had been afraid that one or both her children might be a dwarf, the fear of dying in childbed shaking her entire body at night when she let herself think of it. But if one or both children were dwarfs she thinks she would have loved them. Loved them like Tyrion had deserved to be loved by his family. Tyrion might have been a dwarf and a Lannister but he had so many good qualities, he was generous, clever, with a sense of humor and kind. He was selfish too, constantly ambitious and greedy for things he had been denied all his life. But she too had many faults. 

The next six months were the happiest Sansa had been since before Kings Landing, when she was a young girl with a head full of hopes and dreams, surrounded by her family in the Great Keep. 

Once Sansa had the Maesters blessing, she had begun to walk around the castle. She had one daughter wrapped snugly to her back and the other to her front. She went everywhere with her girls, and they seemed to enjoy it as much as Sansa needed it. She walked miles a day around the castle, she visited with Robin and Myranda, had cakes and cider on the ramparts, took a carriage ride to the forest where there was a tourney clearing from long ago that they used for Robins training. Yohn Royce oversaw his swordwork and Ser Corbray taught him to ride. He was very bad at swordplay, his wrists were so feeble and his shield and sword were constantly knocked from his hand. 

Thankfully he did better on horseback. Sansa even rode with him a few times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Farryn means adventurous.   
> You make of that what you will ;)  
> I also tried to pick Irish names. It was not easy picking the names. I'm always so indecisive when it comes to names.


	8. Chapter VIII: The Second Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After happy times come sad times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning!   
> There is a description of rape and violent acts against a woman in this chapter.

By six months Sansa’s waist was the size she had been before she married Tyrion.

At that time, Petyr received a message during one of Robin’s training sessions. The next day Petyr requested Sansa accompany him to The Fingers. There was an incident at their holdings that they needed to oversee the damage.

  
Sansa said she would rather stay at the Gate of the Moon with her children.

  
“Come now, Alayne. We do not wish to smother your beautiful daughters. A little time away from them will do them no harm and you can get a decent rest at last. You’ve been up all night and walking the halls at all hours since they’ve been born.” even at Petyr’s further suggesting she hesitated. “I swear when their a few months older I shall have them brought to you. 

  
He told her that her stay might be lengthened at the Fingers because he would need someone to oversee things and he would need to return to assist Robin. He was his father now, and he intended to be a mindful and supportive one in the absence of his mother.

She didn’t want to leave the Gate of the Moon, she was happy where she was, with the people she was with. But she was curious as to what Petyr might possibly be scheming.

So she left her daughters in the care of Myranda and Lord Royce.

“Thank you for all you've done for me, Lord Royce.” Sansa said, meaning it. He had kept her secret, treated her daughters as well as any trueborn child. 

  
“I have done nothing more than my duty, my lady.” He told her with a smile, brushing off her gratitude. “And I swear I will continue to do my duty in regards to your daughters. They will be well cared for until they are ready to travel and go to you.”

  
“I have no doubt,” Sansa said, sharing her confidence in him.

Following her line of conversation, Petyr spoke to Lord Royce about Robins training and education. Expecting improvement when he returned. and departed in a carriage with a retinue of knights. It was soon after, but far too late that she realized they were not going to the Fingers.

  
She spoke her assumption that he had left out of some fear that the Lords of the Vale were plotting against him. 

  
“Oh, they are,” Petyr smirked. “But your suggestion of creating a personal guard for Robin and a council of educators from among the lords, they are now quite busy with Robin. The most prominent houses have some sway over our young Robin now and they are content with that for the time.”

  
“But he only listens to you.” Sansa reminded him and watched his smirk grow a little.

“You told, Lord Royce that we were traveling to The Fingers. But the carriage is moving west. So where are we going?“ Sansa finally got to what she really wanted to ask, her arms feeling empty without one or both of her daughters held in them.

“I’m taking you to a land so far from here that not even Cersei Lannister get her hands on you,” he said and Sansa’s neck her by how fast she turned it to look at him in horror.

“Why did you tell me to leave my daughters behind then?!” Sansa seethed through gritted teeth. “Where are you taking me?”

“Where I am taking you is safe, but only for you. With patience they will be able to follow you soon.” he tried to calm her but his words gave her no comfort.

  
“How soon?” she demanded. Her babes had not yet had their first name day yet. She thought of their little faces and big eyes searching the room for her and finding that she had abandoned them.

  
“I can not answer that.” Petyr lips did not frown but went into a stoic line. “But I doubt it will take longer than a year to have Winterfell once more under the rule of House Stark.”

  
Sansa gaped. He was taking her to Winterfell.

Sansa was so shocked she remained silent until they arrived at an Inn.

  
“Does this have anything to do with that scroll you received?” she asked, eyebrows shooting up as she tried to find her composure again.

“You're becoming more observant.” Petyr grinned. 

  
“The scroll was an answer to my marriage proposal,” he said, looking out the window by their booth a brief moment.

  
“Oh, and I thought you were still mourning my dear Aunt Lysa.” Sansa said with a barely withheld sneer. She hid the d ownturn of her lips with the cup of her ale.

Before Lord Baelish could go into further details about his marriage proposal, their conversation was interrupted by Brienne of Tarth and Podrick Payne. Sansa paled at seeing Podrick and had not once spoken to Brienne before, even when she was attending the Kings Wedding after bringing back Jaime Lannister to Kings Landing.

The fiercely large women went to her knee, right their in the Inn with witnesses. She spoke to Sansa about knowing Sansa’s mother, how she had sworn her sword to Catelyn. The last time she had seen Sansa’s mother, she had been asked to vow that she find Sansa and her sister and protect them,

Sansa’s heart was almost swayed but remembered that Brienne had been out of sight to her in Kings Landing, never approaching her once to swear herself there. To stay with her and protect her. It was foolish, greedy Ser Dontos that had helped her escape not Brienne.

Her conflicted feelings were made worse when Petyr ridiculed and called her a woman of failure, having allowed Renly to be murdered right before her and then abandoning the woman she had sworn to protect and who was horribly murdered a short time after.

Brienne tried to request that Sansa speaks with her privately, to let her explain. Sansa hotly refused. Making things worse by reminding Brienne that she had seen her bow to the Lannisters, the ones that planned the murder of her mother at the Kings Wedding.

“The babe, My lady?” Sansa looked back to them when Podrick spoke up softly. “Did the babe live?”

  
Sansa almost forgot that Podrick had assisted Lord Tyrion and had chaperoned her around the wedding. The boy was always so shy and kind. He didn’t serve the Lannister’s because they were good people, but because he believed in Lord Tyrion.

Sansa let out a breath through her nose before nodding and offering him a smile. 

He seemed to sag with relief.

He was a caring boy.

  
“Do you know if _he_ lives?” Sansa asked him, not naming Tyrion, but expecting that Podrick would know who she meant.

“I do not, my Lady.” he shook his head. “I had already been dismissed to find you and the babe before his trial began.”

Sansa thought carefully if she should say anymore. It would be dangerous for her daughters if she described them, and though Podrick was a loyal and respectful squire and even though he had been dismissed from being a Lannister subject she knew she shouldn't trust him.

  
She was glad when Petyr threatened to have them escorted out before Podrick could ask where her babe s were.

Sansa later regretted not going with them and returning to the Gate of the Moon, taking her daughters and getting on a ship from Gulltown to Essos. Instead, she listened to Petyr, and yet the choice was still hers. What a stupid choice it was, what a foolish notion to think she could seduce and control Ramsay Bolton. She had wanted to believe so badly she could get revenge, take control of Winterfell and rebuild her home.

She was a stupid girl with stupid dreams once more. 

For six months, she was tortured in her own marriage bed, body burned and cut all over. She was raped every night and had things other than her husbands cock put inside her, some in her arse. It was humiliating and dehumanizing. It was like Kings Landing all over again. She was taunted by her husband's jealous lover and reminded of all her dead family with the constant presence of Theon who now went by the belittling name of ‘Reek’.

Petyr had left before she was even married. He had abandoned her. 

She tried to look for a chance, a moment to kill him, to kill his father, to get revenge. But the bastards were smart and she had never hidden how she felt about them. They predicted she might try something, had her watched and sharp objects kept from her unless to dine.

She might have found a way to kill herself, if not for the thought of Farryn and Shaela. Their faces appeared to her when she needed them the most when she was at her weakest. They gave her strength when there was none to be found within herself. And when Ramsay would cut her and shove things roughly inside her, she would think of how painful it was giving birth to her twins. Nothing could compare to that. 

One night, early in their marriage, Ramsay finally asked the question. 

  
“Where is your bastard, my love?” word had spread like predicted from Kings Landing and the stretch marks on her belly and the fact that she was still lactating some proved she had not miscarried.

“It was stillborn.” She lied and turned on her side away from him. She hissed. He had cut some strips from her back and made her lay on it while he fucked her. She could feel the linen of the bed peel from the open wounds.

“Well, at least I know your not barren.” she was sure he had been grinning when he said it.

Sansa had flinched when he snaked a hand over her side and put his palm flat to her stomach. “Our child will be heir to Winterfell. Pray my seed roots in your womb. It would not be good for you if I fall short of The Imp.”

He also threatened if he found her with moon tea he would cut off one of her fingers. Ramsay fucked her again that night not shortly after his threat. Multiple times, as if desperate for his seed to take, to mark the inside of her with him. 

When she learned that Rickon and Bran were alive somewhere, that Theon hadn’t killed them. She knew she had to escape, to find some way to escape on her own. She needed to save herself and run. She would get back to her daughters and find her brothers.

When Stannis marched to take Winterfell with a cold and tired army not suited for battle in the snow. Sansa had her opportunity. While the men were preparing to leave to fight Stannis, Sansa used builders screw she had stolen to get out of her room and went to the broken tower. She lit the candle as she was told by the old woman and waited.

From the tower, she could see it all. They surrounded the Baratheon forces, decimated them. Stannis never had a chance.

Afterward, she had rushed back from the tower, planning to stay close to the ramparts, to watch for her rescue. But she was caught, Ramsay’s whore with her bow drawn and arrow pointed at her found her first. Reek was slumped and whimpering behind her.

Despite her last attempt to escape, Sansa was ready to die. She would rather die than stay in this hell that her home had become and be tortured by the demon that was her husband for another night. Though that was not the sluts plan. Sansa couldn’t be killed until she had given Ramsay a few boys when she did then she would be disposed of. Until then, she was allowed to put an arrow through her arm or leg. Nothing fatal.

But before she could take a shot, Theon was struggling with the girl and then she falling and Sansa heard a sickening crack as her skull broke open. They both looked over the railing together.

Then the sound of the men returning could be heard and Theon was taking her hand, pulling her along until the came to a still broken part of the wall. They had to jump. Sansa and Theon grasped hands tightly and shared a look before jumping together. 

  
They survived the fall because of a high snow pile that broke their fall.  

They got to their feet as quickly as they could and sprinted for the trees. The temperature was freezing, she wasn’t dressed warmly enough for walking through the forests conditions and Sansa had never felt colder. She tried to think of the warm little bodies of Shae and Farryn to try and ignite some internal warmth to help her keep going. They trudged across a frozen stream, trying to put as much distance as they could but by some point, it was just too much. Sansa was too cold.

Theon had pulled her behind a turned over tree, the pulled up roots making a shallow umbrella to sit under. He scooped her into his arms and held her close, trying to pass his warmth to her as he rubbed her arms and back. Sansa closed her eyes and leaned into him. He had come through for her. Theon, the Theon she had grown up with was still alive somewhere inside him. Ramsay hadn’t killed all of him. For her, Reek had become Theon again.

  
She smiled, thinking how brave and strong this broken man was. He had made a terrible mistake that cost him, someone, he loved, but so had she. She had hated him, as had been her right, she had good reason to hate him. But by this one act she somehow forgave him for all that he had done before.

Sansa parted from him,not far, just enough so she could cup his face in her hands. He didn’t even flinch at the caked snow on them. She looked into his eyes and saw none of the cocky boy she once knew. The one that teased her and whisked her off to dance with him, unafraid of people's stares. The boy who had played knights with her rescued her alongside Robb and asked for her hand in marriage with innocent playfulness of a young boy.

The one who drunkenly told her they would marry someday.

Theon had been a cocky, whoremongering young man, but she could have done worse and she would never have suffered like she had if they were betrothed instead of her and Joffrey.

  
“I lied to Ramsay.” she told him suddenly and he tried to tell her not to talk, to reserve her energy. But she had to tell someone.

  
“I didn't have a stillbirth. I have twin daughters, Farryn and Shaela. They're in the Vale, if we can just---”

  
Then they heard the dogs.

“I’ll lead them away.” Theon whispers, looking over his shoulder and making to stand.

“No, I won’t make it without you.” she holds onto him, her teeth chattering.

  
He looks back to her, hands on her arms and tells her to go north, only north until she reaches Castle Black. Jon is there, Jon will help her. Then he was running off to lead the men and dogs away from her. Only he didn’t get far before he was cornered. They were still so close Sansa could hear one man tell Theon how he couldn’t wait to see what part Ramsay cut off this time. She put a hand over her own mouth to try and stifle any noise she might make. But even after trudging through freezing water, the dogs had Sansa’s scent. 

  
Soon she was flinching back away from the snarling dogs that were surrounding her and Theon had rushed over to shield her from their foaming fangs. Even as his legs shook he stood with legs apart and knees bent. His arms outstretched on either side, trying to cover as much of her as possible from them.  They were outnumbered with three men on foot with their hounds and three on horseback.

  
Sansa let out a sob. She was never going to see her daughters again. 

Sansa didn’t hear the gallops, but she heard Brienne’s war cry as she rode onto the scene, slashing at one of the men on their horse and knocking him off. His body was twitching and he was grasping at a deep cut that went across his chest and through his neck. But the Bolton men retaliated and knocked Brienne off her own horse. The air is knocked out of her and one of the foot soldiers attempt to stomp down on her but Brienne rolls. Another comes and kicks her in her stomach, but she manages to reach for her sword and taking his ankle yanks the man down. She hops up and drives her sword through his throat before pulling it out and readying to face the other. 

  
Podrick is with Brienne and had jumped from his horse to fight the men on foot. He fights well but he is still very unpracticed.

Theon rushes for a fallen sword nearby and returns to her with it in-hand. He looks at her, asking silently if she is alright. One of the hounds had been cut down by Podrick, another struggled beneath a fallen horse. The third and most cowardly one had run away. 

Once Theon seems sure she is fine for a moment he jumps into the fight with Brienne and Podrick. Saving Podrick as he puts his sword through the enemies back. He’s clumsy, having a limp and unpracticed for some time. Yet there is a moment, looking at his back that, Sansa falls into the past when he would train with Robb. Theon fought hard and she welcomed him back to her side when it was over.

  
Brienne approaches her next and quietly goes to her knee and laid her sword as Sansa’s feet. She properly offered her loyalty and service to Sansa and this time Sansa accepted. Afterward, they took the surviving horses that hadn’t run away and carried on for some time longer, putting more distance between them and any other members of the search party. Once they felt they were safe for now, they made camp.

Sansa sat by Brienne, feeling she had to apologize for the cruel way she had spoken to her. But Brienne just smiled and said she had understood. She was just happy not that she could prove herself to Sansa and continue forward protecting her.

At some point, they had started to discuss Arya.

“I saw her, with a man.” she said slowly. “I don’t think he hurt her.”

  
Before Sansa could ask why Arya didn’t go with her, Brienne said that Arya hadn’t wanted to leave the man and he hadn’t wanted to leave Arya.

“And you don’t know which way she went?” Sansa asked, greedy for an idea of where her sister might have gone.

  
“I searched three days for her. But she disappeared. I’m sorry, my lady.” Brienne bowed her head.

“Don’t be.” Sansa swallowed. Arya was sure to have reacted similarly to Sansa when she had met Brienne. Distrustful, angry even if Brienne had explained things. 

“How did she look?” Sansa imagined her little sister in so many ways these past few years.

“She looked good.” Brienne said, sounding sure that Arya had been healthy. 

Then the woman frowned. “Though she wasn’t exactly dressed as a lady.”

  
Sansa smiled. “No, she wouldn’t have been.”

Brienne didn’t give her much time before asking what had happened at Winterfell.

  
“I thought I could--’ Sansa trailed off and swallowed. “I thought I could take it back. I thought I could seduce him but I’m not that type of the woman and---”

  
Sansa closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  
“I don’t think I can ever speak aloud what happened to me. To anyone. Not now.” Sansa closed her eyes.

  
“I should have gone with you when I had the chance.” Sansa looked at Brienne with regret in her blue eyes.

Brienne was completely patient and understanding with her.

  
“It was a difficult choice, my lady.” and she said and looked pass Sansa to Theon who was helping Podrick with the wood for the fire. “We’ve all had to make difficult choices.”

  
At the sound of naying horses, Theon stood and looked all around for the direction it was coming from. He began to walk off and Sansa followed him.

“Theon?” Sansa called his name softly when she reached him. 

  
He didn’t look at her. “We shouldn’t be lighting a fire. He knows the woods, he’ll see the smoke and find us.”

“We’re too cold Theon, we need some heat to get us through the journey for a little while longer. Once we’ve warmed up some we’ll go to Castle Black.” Sansa smiled, touching his arm. He flinched, but she understood. She had flinched too when Brienne had wrapped a spare cloak around her.

  
Ramsay had done that to them.

  
“Once we’re with Jon, Ramsay won’t be able to touch us.” She tried to reassure him.

  
“Jon will have me killed the moment I pass the gates.” he shook his head. He deserved it anyway. It was the proper punishment for his crimes.

“I won’t let him.” Sansa said strongly, steel in her eyes. “I’ll explain about Bran and Rickon.” 

  
“And what about the farm boys. I still murdered two innocent boys. And then Ser Rodrick, I beheaded him in the worst way, he suffered. I still took Winterfell, still betrayed Robb.” his eyes watered and voice cracked.

“You can take the black. No one will care what you did then.  Once your a man of the Night Watch all your crimes are forgiven.” said Sansa as she took his hands in hers. 

He didn’t look at her so Sansa tugged on his hands to get his attention.

  
“I forgive you, Theon. I understand why you did it. I’m not much different from you.” she told him, remembering her own betrayal against Robb.

He looked at her, surprised to see that her forgiveness was genuine. But he didn’t want it. Didn’t deserve it and said as much to her.

  
“I can never make amends to your family.” he said and then looked past her to Brienne and Podrick. Theon was one of the few men who almost met her in height.

  
“They’ll keep you safer than I ever could.”

Sansa shook her head, realizing what he was trying to say.

“You’re leaving me?” she said, voice a little choked.

He’s suddenly pulling her into his arms then and whispering in her ear.

  
“I would have taken you all the way to The Wall. I would have died to get you there.” Sansa pulled away some, cupping his cheeks and using her thumb to wipe away his tears.

“You are not allowed to die. We have to meet again. I want you to meet my daughters.” she said looking at him sternly. Her words were a command. 

  
He nodded.

  
“May I take one of the horses?” he asked, uncertain to request such a thing.

  
“Of course.” Sansa nodded. “Where will you go?”

  
“Home.” he said.

Sansa understood. After all, that was what she had done. Gone home. She just hoped it would be better for Theon than it had been for her.

  
Podrick helped saddle his horse, but before he could mount Sansa grabbed his arm. 

  
“May I kiss you?” she asked, taking him by surprise. 

She wanted to share one kiss with someone she cared about, someone she genuinely wanted to kiss.

  
Theon was speechless but nodded. His cheeks red.

  
Sansa leaned into him, and he leaned into her and with tears trailing down their cheeks they kissed.

Their lips were cold and chapped yet they kissed through the pain. Theon wrapped his arms so gently around her waist, Sansa wasn't sure if they had every really been there at all. 

“I will miss you.” Sansa said against his lips as she pulled back.

  
“I wanted nothing more once than to marry you and be called a Stark.” he confessed what she already knew.

  
“I’ve always wanted you,  Sansa Stark, and I don’t think I ever truly stopped. But you deserve a whole man.” Theon pressed his forehead to hers before he mounted his horse and rode off.

  
Sansa watched him go. 

“My Lady?” Brienne voice held some concern after what she saw. Sansa could only imagine what she might be thinking after watching such a scene.

  
“Ramsay cut it off.” She told them. “Theon’s a eunuch now. But I would still have  had him as he is.” 

Sansa took a deep breath in and then released. She wiped her face of her tears and walked over to the fire with her head held high.

“Where do you wish to go from here, my lady?” Brienne asked her, willing to go wherever Sansa desired.

  
“Castle Black. I have a half-brother there. Once it’s safer, we’ll travel to the Vale. I have friends there and my daughters are there.”


	9. Chapter IX: The Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunion of brother and sister and devastating news.

“You had twins?” Podrick asked, catching the plural. He had only thought it was one babe when they last spoke.

  
“Yes.” Sansa nodded. “Twin girls, Shaela and Farryn.”

“What pretty names.” Brienne said out of politeness. Though they were lovely names.

Sansa thinks of her daughters all the way to The Wall. She thinks of Jon too. How she had longed to see him. She had kept telling herself at the Eyrie the only family she had left was her babes and Robin. But that wasn’t true. Jon still lived. He was her family, her blood too. And in Kings Landing, she had thought of him often, thought of the sulking boy and how she wished she had been kinder to him. She would apologize and make up all the years they had missed once she was with him.

As they continued to the wall the snow began to come down heavier, thick blankets of white coating them as they traveled. But in a way it could be seen as an advantage, the cold white cloaks allowing them to better blend into the background of frost coated forest. But it was not an easy journey, for any of them. Though Sansa was accustomed to the North Podrick and Brienne were not. But she was not acquainted with traveling on foot or horseback for very long and she becomes burningly sore. 

  
When they could afford to rest Sansa kept seeing Ramsay every time she closed her eyes. If she managed to fall asleep at all for any short amount of time she would dream of Ramsay’s hounds chasing her and wake with a panicked fright and jump to her feet, running as if the dogs were right behind her. Podrick had to chase after her, catching her around the waist and rocking her as she sobbed hysterically, begging for him to just kill her rather than take her back.

  
“Shh, my Lady, it is Podrick. I won’t hurt you, we’re going to your brother at The Wall remember.” When Sansa had come down from her episodes she would apologize profusely to Brienne and Podrick as they packed camp. Her cries might have been heard so it was best to move right away.

Neither blamed her but Sansa felt ashamed all the same for her hysterics.

When they finally arrive at Castle Black, Podrick goes ahead to announce them before the gates are open to them. Sansa holds her breath as she enters, her eyes roaming the faces of the men in the yard, searching for familiar dark curls and grey eyes. Her heart is pounding with fear as she is unable to find Jon in the crowd. Were they wrong? Had Ramsay lied and Jon was not the Lord Commander? Perhaps he had died beyond the Wall, gone missing like their Uncle Benjen. She had heard the whispers in Kings Landing about her uncle never coming back.

  
Her Uncle had been a prominent figure in the Night’s Watch the King’s counsel would have been told. 

She slips down from her horse and looks again at the men until finally, her eyes move upward and she sees him. She lets go of the breath she was holding and her chest heaves with the exhale. It was him. It was Jon. She was reunited with her brother at last.

  
Jon looks at her from the railing, leaning back with a doubting expression, starting at her as if she were a ghost. Unsure and almost frightened before he starts to slowly make his way down the stairs.

Sansa is breathing heavier now, nearly unable to contain herself as she watches him. She’s feeling so much. Joy, regret, longing, and hope. What she had thought impossible had come to be. She was seeing Jon again.

He looked so much like father from a distance. He had grown taller and he had grown a beard too.

Finally, he’s in front of her and they're staring at each other with disbelief and amazement. 

  
Sansa in the first to move but Jon meets her almost as immediately when she does. She throws her arms over his shoulders and around his neck and he holds her tight around the waist, lifting her up off her feet. She’s taller than him now. They hold each other for perhaps longer than what might normally be deemed appropriate but under their circumstances, no one seems to judge them. They don’t say anything, just allow them to nuzzle into the other like wolves would when meeting. The other was solid beneath them. It wasn’t a dream.  They were alive and they were together. 

When Sansa starts to shiver Jon is the first to pull back. He looks her over, from top to bottom frowning at the state she was in. Sansa had always looked nothing but perfect. Perfect dress, perfect hair, but the Sansa in front of him was dirty and disheveled.

“Sansa,” he says her name like a prayer. 

“I can’t believe you are here. Why are you here?” his joy turns to a somber, worried question.

  
“It’s a long story,” she tells him. There is a light missing in her eyes and something crumbles inside him. This was his sister, something horrible had happened to her.

He thought about Arya. If Sansa was here, where was Arya?

“Let's go inside. Get you cleaned up and warm.” with a gentle smile he leads her up the stairs and inside to get her fed and warmed. Brienne and Podrick are shown rooms nearby, especially when Brienne insisted she be given corridors next to her ladies. Jon doesn’t argue and accommodates them.

When Sansa is brought into a room and sees Ghost she drops to her knees and holds out her hand. She never thought she would see a Direwolf again. “Do you remember me, Ghost, I was Lady’s master.”

  
Sansa suddenly gives a shudder. “I failed her, I’m so sorry. I let your sister die.” 

Jon frowns at this woman, his sister and yet a stranger. He gets down next to her and puts a hand high on her back in a comforting manner. He doesn’t know the story, but he can’t imagine what it could be like to lose her Direwolf. Even when Ghost went away for some time on his own, Jon could feel him, knew that he was alive.  If he couldn’t feel him anymore? Jon couldn’t imagine the emptiness inside of him.

Ghost slowly pads over to them and licks Sansa’s cheeks. She laughs and puts her arms around Ghost’s neck, putting her face in his white fur. She had been forgiven. When she is done petting and fawning over Ghost Jon pulls a bench in front of the fire for them and gives her some ale. Ghost stayed curled in front of their feet. 

Soon someone knocks on the door and Jon opens it to a man holding a steaming bowl on a wooden tray. Jon thanks him and takes it in. He first takes the ale back from Sansa and gives her the bowl of soup.

Sansa takes a slurp from the bowl, no spoon given. 

She turns to Jon, licking her lips. “It’s good soup.”

  
The soup is shit, Jon knows. But Sansa had always been a lady and that meant complimenting things she disliked. So he just gives her a weak smile.

  
There is a moment of awkward silence before Sansa disrupts it.

  
“Do you remember the kidney pies Old Nan used to make?” she asked, a little color has returned to her face.

“With the peas and onions.” he nods and a big smile spreads over his usually sullen face.

They both remembered the kidney pies. They had been delicious and all the children of House Stark had loved when they were served at supper. When Sansa returned to Winterfell and could not find the elderly woman, she was glad to learn that instead of being killed for her loyalty to House Stark, she had passed in her sleep before Theon’s betrayal. Sansa wondered though if Old Nan had managed to scribe the recipe. Her kidney pies really had been the best.

Sansa and the others had once asked to have them every night for dinner. 

  
Jon frowns and looks deeply into the hearth, the conversation of kidney pie bringing back memories of Winterfell and regrets. “We should never have left Winterfell.”

Sansa agrees. “Don’t you wish we could go back to the day we left?”

  
Sansa gives a self-depreciating huff. “I want to yell at myself, ‘don’t go you, idiot.’”

“How could we have known what would happen?” he asks, trying to make her feel better. Make him feel better too.

  
They had both been young and stupid with heads full of ambitious dreams.

Sansa looked at Jon, really looked at him. She had barely done that, looked at him. Perhaps her eyes would stop for a moment on him but they were quickly darted somewhere else. He looked aged. Tired. He had scars on his face now. He had seen so much, just like her. 

  
“I spent a lot of time thinking of what an ass I was to you,” Sansa tells him, the soup still cupped in her hands. 

Jon looked uncomfortable at the admittance of her poor treatment of him.

  
“I could try and excuse my behavior as just me wanting to please my mother, but that doesn’t make it right.” Sansa shook her head. “You were still father's son, my brother. I wish I could change everything.”

  
“We were children.” Jon shrugged giving her an out and end to this awkward conversation. 

“I was awful, just admit it.” she smirks at him.

“Alright. You were occasionally awful.” Jon lips quirk up and they both share a smile.

Yes, Sansa had been occasionally awful. But there were times when she didn’t think her mother would catch her, that she had been kind. She told him to always tell a girl that her name was pretty when they introduced themselves. Taught him how to dance and properly brush his hair if he insisted on letting it grow out to his shoulders.

“I’m sure I couldn’t have been great fun, always sulking in the corner while the rest of you played.” he gave a smirk of his own.

  
“Can you forgive me?” Sansa quickly asked.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Jon quickly replied, shaking his head.

  
“Forgive me.” Sansa insisted strongly.

  
“Alright.” Jon huffed, giving up already and looked at her with a smile. “I forgive you.”

  
Sansa laughed with relief. She put down her bowl of soup and now that her hands were free she reached out to him. Jon looked confused at her hand before she rolled her eyes and nodded to the ale. He gave her an incredulous look, smirking. She flexed her brow impatiently at him and he handed it to her, watching. He laughed when she made a face and started coughing.

She gave the mug back to him.

  
“You would think after thousands of years, the Night Watch would have learned to make a good ale.” Jon joked.

Sansa took a deep breath.

  
“I don’t know what information you’ve been able to get here at Castle Black but after Stannis tried to take the Black Water I was married to Tyrion Lannister.” Sansa told him, watching him for a reaction.

  
He didn’t say anything and his face was a mix of pity and rage. 

  
“I have two daughters with him. Twins. I had them after I escaped Kings Landing.” she told him and then he asked her how she had done it. How she had escaped, he asked her about Arya. What happened to her.

“You were always the closest to Arya.” Sansa smiles, remembering how her little sister would sneak off to see their bastard half-brother. And how Sansa would tell on her to her mother.

  
Sansa really was an ass back then.

  
She tells him what she knows. That Arya had disappeared after fathers beheading. She hadn’t seen her since. She had assumed for the longest time she was dead before Little Finger had said he had seen her at Harrenhal, alive and pretending to be a boy. 

Jon laughed. 

  
“That sounds like something Arya would do.” Sansa agrees.

  
She told him about Baelish, about the Eyrie. About her Aunt Lysa. About having her babes and how terrified she had been without her mother, how she almost lost Farryn because she hadn’t been breathing. Told him about the wonderful six months in the Vale and then about Baelish tricking her away from her daughters and selling her to Ramsay Bolton under the guise of making her believe she could have avenged Robb and her mother all on her own once she was married to him. 

She even told him about what Ramsay did to her. She knew she shouldn’t put such a burden on him, telling him such awful things. But it felt good to tell someone, at last, to tell her family. To feel protected by his rage for what was done to her. 

  
“I’ll kill him.” He promised her and she wasn’t sure if he meant Petyr or Ramsay. Maybe both.

“What about you?” She asked. “What’s happened to you?”

She could see in his eyes that he was changed, that something terrible happened to her.

He tells her about the Wildings, about the woman he fell in love with. He tells her about the White Walkers, which she first can hardly believe, and then about Stannis coming to Castle Black. He also tells her about what his brothers did to him, about being brought back by the Red Witch. 

After she had confided in him what Ramsay did to her, it did not seem fair to withhold something like that from her.

  
“Did you see father? Robb?” Sansa asked, hopeful for something on the other side.

  
He wanted to lie to her. But he couldn’t. He shook his head. 

  
Sansa didn’t ask any more questions about it but she did apologize. She told him if he hadn’t killed the men that betrayed them she would have had Brienne do it on his behalf. Jon smiled at that and patted her knee, grateful. 

  
She changed the subject by asking more details on what Stannis plan had been for taking Winterfell.  He told her what he knew, about how he had wanted Jon to rally the Free Folk to fight for him, that he refused and how Davos had returned to try again after leaving with Stannis.

  
“Davos was able to convince Stannis to let him bring his daughter back to Castle Black for her safety. They are both still here.” he told her.

“I saw Stannis’s army from the broken tower. He stood no chance. His army was too small and Ramsay circled around them, tightening in on them until they couldn’t move. Brienne said Stannis got away, but she passed justice on him for murdering his brother Renly.” Sansa passed what she knew of the battle to him.

  
“Ramsay has no mercy. I’m glad that Davos could bring Princess Shireen to safety.” Sansa said sincerely, wishing no one the fate of what Ramsay might bestow them.

Jon nodded his agreement.

“She’s all alone. Her father named her his heir, told Davos to put her on the Iron Throne even if it meant his life.” Jon shook his head disapprovingly.

  
“What do they plan to do now?” Sansa askes out of curiosity.

  
Jon confesses he doesn’t know. Shireen had been mourning her parents since the Red Witch had returned with the first news of Stannis’s defeat.

“Poor girl.” Sansa sympathized. “She’s about Arya’s age isn’t she?”

  
“Sixteen.” Jon nodded and Sansa noticed he seemed uncomfortable talking about the princess. 

  
Speaking of Arya. Sansa needed to tell Jon the rest she knew of Arya. She also needed to tell him about Bran and Rickon. So she did. Told him first about Arya and then about the farm boys being killed in their stead, that Both Bran and Rickon had escaped and were out their with Hodor and Osha. 

“Osha’s a Wilding?” Jon looked for confirmation.

  
Sansa nodded. "That's what Theon said. Robb took her into our service to watch over Bran after she and another tried to attack him. Doesn't make much sense to me."

“They’ll be safe with her. The Free Folk are clever, they know how to survive in the North. Plus they’ll have Summer and Shaggydog.” Jon told her with a more sure smile. 

“They know the North, they might not have left. We’ll look for them.”

  
Sansa nodded but didn’t feel confident for some reason. She had started to get a terrible feeling in her stomach about something.

  
“Where will you go after?” Sansa asked him.

“Where will  _ we  _ go?” He corrected her with a smirk. “If I don’t watch over you, Father’s ghost will come back and murder me.”

Sansa smiled, happy to know that her brother would stay with her throughout. 

  
“Then where will we go?” she asked again.

  
He shrugged and looked darkly into the fire. “We can’t stay here. Not after what happened.”

  
“We can go to the Vale, to the Gates of the Moon. I have to get my daughters. I also have the love and loyalty of many lords there beyond Lord Baelish, we would be safe for a while.” she suggested.

  
“We wouldn’t have to stay lon g. We can go to Gulltown after getting your girls, sail to Essos far from all this war and death.” He added his own suggestion, wanting for once to run, to be a coward. He had to keep his sister safe, her children safe. And he wasn’t so sure they could defeat the Night King. Who knows how long they had, what magic that monster possessed that could bring down the wall. 

  
“I could find work as a seamstress,” Sansa said, imagining it. A house just big enough for them all, maybe on a hill or by the sea. She would wear Essosi gowns and tan under the sun until her hair was near blond as her girls. 

  
“And I can be a sellsword or private guard for a merchant or prince.” Jon grinned, sharing her vision.

The combined picture is lovely, humble but safe. They nod together in agreement of the plan but things quickly changed.

At breakfast the next morning, everyone was all together. Shireen and Davos too, Brienne, Podrick, a brother of the Night Watch Jon still trusts and Tormund Giantsbane of the Freefolk. 

“It looks worse than it is.” Shireen whispers to Sansa from her seat next to her. The ladies have a side all to themselves why the men dig into their food with vigor opposite them.

Sansa had been picking at her food, unappreciative. 

  
“Sorry about the food. It’s not what we're known for.” Ed, Jon’s Nightwatch brother and friend apologized.

  
“That’s alright. There are more important things anyway.” she smiles at him and finally takes a bite of what she thinks is goat when a man of the night watch comes into the hall.

“Letter for you, Lord Commander.” He says, holding it out for him.

  
_ “I’m not Lord Commander anymore,” Jon says gruffly, looking up from his plate at the man. _

_   
Ed rolls his eyes and tells him to just take the damn paper. Jon does. _

_ Jon stares at the seal on it, looking aggravated as he slipped it off and unrolled the parchment. _

_ All eyes are on him. Jon looks back at the people at the table before reading allowed.  _

_ “To the traitor and bastard Jon Snow _

_ You allowed thousands of Wildings past the wall. You have betrayed your own kind and you have betrayed The North. Winterfell is mine bastard, come and see. _

_ Your brother Rickon is in my dungeon along with my wife's bastard. She looks so much like her mother with her red hair. Come and see.”  _

_ “ _ Shaela!?” Sansa gasped, hand going to her mouth in horror.

Jon kept reading but he looked at her with sympathy and horror on her behalf.

_ “I want my wife back. Send her to me, bastard, and I will not trouble you or your wilding lovers. Keep her from me and I will ride north to slaughter every Wilding man, woman, and bane living under your protection.  _

_ You will watch as I skim them alive, you will watch---” _

Jon couldn't continue anymore, a look of disgust and rage twisting his face. Sansa tried to make him continue but he refused so she leaned across the table and took the letter from him.

_ “You will watch as my soldiers take turns with your sister, you will watch as my hounds devour your little brother and niece. Then I will spoon your eyes from their sockets and let my dogs do the rest. _

_ Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” _

Sansa dropped the parchment and put her face in her hands. Her shoulders shooks but she was not crying.

  
“Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North? I thought that was his father.” asked Davos.

“He must have killed him, during or after I escaped. He must have killed his stepmother and her baby boy too.” Sansa wanted to vomit but she didn’t. Thank the gods she hadn’t ate much or that might have been different.

Sansa looked up at from her hands, fear in her eyes. But not for herself.

  
“I don’t understand. I told Ramsay I had a stillbirth. He shouldn’t know about any of my daughter's much less where they were to get his hands on them. And Rickon--”

  
“We don’t know for sure he has them,” Jon said, trying to think, trying to comfort his distraught sister.

“What if he does have them, what if he’s not lying?” Sansa asked with eyes full of tears that didn’t fall.

Shireen put her arm through Sansa’s, holding one of her hands atop the table in a comforting fashion of women. 

  
“Could Theon have told him about the girls?” Brienne asked.

  
“No. Ramsay would have mentioned him if he had been captured as a scare tactic. To remind me what pain could await me if I don’t comply.” Sansa shook her head, folding her arms.

  
“I should never have left my girls.” Sansa looked up and wiped the tears from her face. She had cried so much already. “I should have learned from what happened when mother left Bran and Rickon.”

“Sansa, you can’t blame yourself if he does have her. You said and did everything you could to keep them secret, to keep them safe.” Jon tells her, trying to calm her. He hated to see her so upset.

Sansa stood from the table in frustration. Turning her back to them as she wrapped her arms around herself. “I was selfish. I wanted revenge, I wanted Winterfell back and to give my girls a home. Our home. And now I’ve lost one of my girls.”

When would she learn? When would she stop being an idiot and overestimating herself?

“How many does he have in his army?” it was the Wilding, Tormund who asked.

Sansa thought before turning around with the answer. “I heard him say 5,ooo once when he was speaking of Stannis attacking.”

Jon looked over at Tormund next to him, asking in a deep and gruff voice how many men Tormund had.

“That can march and fight?” Tormund thought about it. “2,000. The rest is children and the old.

  
Sansa remembered seeing Stannis army being decimated. 

“We’ll offer a trade. Me for Rickon and Shaela.” Sansa sniffed.

  
“No, my lady!” Brienne objected.

“One woman for a Stark and Lannister heir. Do you really think he would make that trade?” Davos asked.

  
Sansa nodded and put a hand to her stomach.

  
“He will because it’s not just me he’s getting. I’m with child, his child.” Sansa hadn’t been sure until she threw up that morning. At first, she had thought it was the soup from the night before but then she had sat and counted back to her last moonblood. It had been difficult to remember when she actually had it because of how rough Ramsay always was with her. But she felt sure that she was with child again and it made her sicker to think of it than it ever had when she thought about carrying a Lannister baby. 

  
At least the twins father was a half decent man. Ramsay was just pure evil and chaos.

  
The room was silent and then Jon stood up slowly. 

  
“I will never let him touch you again. We will rally the North and we will get Rickon and Shaela back.” Jon voice was the voice of a commander, and everyone in the room seemed to sit a bit straighter. “I’ll protect you. I promise.”

  
Sansa smiled sadly, almost defeated. “No one can protect me. No one can protect anyone.”


	10. Chapter X: The Betrayel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, we get our explanation on how Ramsay got Shaela.

Sansa remembered the first few months of being with child, trying to hide her sickness, mask her aversions to certain foods that she had once enjoyed but had then repulsed her by their smell alone. 

She had wished for a miscarriage, for her blood to come in the night but it never did. She hadn’t thought she could love the babe inside her, not after all the people whose blood it shared had made her suffer and made her family suffer. But then as she felt the life get bigger inside her, think of its possibilities it was harder to hate it, to resent it and now she loved her daughters more than anything in the world.

She adored her girls, barely let them out of her sight and peppered them with kisses and showered them with words of love.

  
But a babe sired by Ramsay, the thought alone triggered her nausea. It was like something was rotting inside of her rather than flowering into a beautiful little life.

The Red Witch had offered to brew her moon tea and as tempting at it was, her unborn child may be the only chance of freeing Rickon and Shaela.  She could use it as leverage. If something happened to Rickon or her daughter then something could just as well happen to his child and he would be heirless, struggling to find another wife that would give him the support of the North. There weren’t even that many southern daughters he could ask for, not with his reputation. No house would give away their daughter, not unless the payment for her was steeply beneficial. The North had very little that any southern house might want or need. The Lannisters didn't want the North for its recourses. It was a statement of power, that they could hold the North.

She knew she was devilish to think so cruelly of the life in her womb. But Shaela was already in this world, she was healthy and strong. If she miscarried her current babe, she could have another with a man that didn’t beat and rape her. But Shaela was irreplaceable. She and Farryn had given Sansa a new chance at life. She would not abandon her.

The same day that Ramsay’s letter came, another message, one from Lord Baelish arrived.

After reading it Sansa told Brienne her plan and then went to Shireen. She couldn’t think of who else might help her. Pod was a terrible liar, all shifty and nervous. She would need Shireen to distract Jon while she left Castle Black for Mole Town with Brienne. They would be back before nightfall.

“Do you really think this is wise?” Shireen asked with nothing but concern.

“He’s the only one who knew about my girls, who could have told Ramsay. I need to know why. What he benefited from all this.” Sansa told Shireen, fire in her eyes.

  
“But I appreciate your worry.” Sansa took a seat next to her. 

“You barely know me yet you tried to comfort me earlier. I did appreciate it.” Sansa smiled weakly at her.

  
“I should have come to you to offer my condolences. My father had supported your father's claim. I can’t speak about why my brother Robb didn’t support it too. But believe me that I am sorry for your loss and understand your pain.” Sansa tried to make up for her lack of manners and sympathy.

Sansa was actually quite impressed with Shireen. She reminded Sansa a little of Tyrion with her clever wit and a keen interest in history and the wisdom it could offer them. But only a little. Shireen was an incredible girl. So different. So wonderfully unabashed about her scars, who didn't let whispers get to her and still stayed strong through all of her fathers defeats. She wasn't power hungry, she didn't want to be queen, she didn't feel that the throne was her birthright. She simply wanted to live as she was. She had no ulterior motives and no greed. She was patient and dutiful, having gone with her father all the way north and leaving her home behind. She had to watch as her father had been seduced by the Red Witch, listen to her uncles screams as they burned him and dealt with the lectures.

“I loved my father, I miss him and my mother. I just wish he had listened to Ser Davos and come back when he had the chance.” Shireen said, her chin wobbling a little through her eyes remained dry.

“I loved and miss my father and brother. But they made stupid mistakes and they lost their heads for them.” Sansa sighed. “I dream about them, about their deaths.”

Sansa looked at Shireen, her apology in her eyes. She shouldn't have said something so horrible. The girl didn't need such dreams to look forward to.    
  


She tried to put a wiser spin on the situation.

  
“I have to be smarter, I have to survive less their deaths be for nothing. Yet I keep making my own stupid mistakes. Endangering my loved ones.” Sansa wondered if she would ever stop blaming herself.

“We’re players in this game now too, aren’t we?” Shireen asked with uncertainty. 

“I think so.” Sansa nodded sympathetically.

Shireen stared at her lap.“I feel like I’ve read so much, yet know so little. I don’t feel prepared at all to face what's outside.”

  
“You have Davos with you. He knows what it’s like out there. He’ll guide you, no matter what you choose to do or where to you go from here.” Sansa tried to give her some confidence. She couldn’t imagine what pressure Shireen was putting on her own shoulders now that her father was dead.

  
“I would like to support you and Jon, taking back Winterfell, Lady Sansa.” Shireen took Sansa completely by surprise.

“Princess, you have enough on your shoulders. You don’t have to worry about my fight.” Sansa brushed her offer. 

  
“I know I have very little, to no men left, that I could attribute to the effort.” Shireen turned fully to Sansa, taking her hands. “but my father knew the importance of Winterfell, of having a Stark as the warden. For the sake of peace, being independent or part of all the realms.

  
"I share that opinion with my father. I want to help in anyway I can.”

  
Sansa studied her, taking her in. She had been deceived by women and girls before but Shireen was different. She was sincere in the purest of ways. She was untouched by politics and manipulation and she was smart enough not to be swayed by someone like the Red Witch. But she was young enough for her heart to be swayed by a man and that worried Sansa.

“You fancy Jon, don’t you?” Sansa asked, no jape in her voice just gentle curiosity.

Shireen’s untouched cheek tinted pink and she broke eye contact with Sansa.

“He is very handsome. Brave too. I’m sure many girls fancied him when you were at Winterfell” Shireen considered and so did Sansa.

She could recall a few girls, including her friend Jeyne making excuses to go by the training yard to catch a glimpse of the Jon and of young kitchen wenches whispering about Jon and his dreamy hair.

“He’s been so considerate to me since I arrived with my father,” Shireen added.

  
Sansa nodded. “Jon is probably one of the only chivalrous men that actually exist in this world. Father always taught the boys to respect women and I’m glad to hear he has forgotten.” 

“Oh no, he really is a perfect gentleman. Makes sure none of the men bother me. I was so terrified and sad when Davos had found him in the yard after---”   
Sansa knew what she was trying to say and spared her.

  
“And you don’t care if he’s a bastard?” Sansa asked with a barely there frown.

  
Shireen shook her head. For her, who was the last of her house, there was no one left to disapprove. So what if she now chose to give her affections to a bastard? Besides, Jon was far nobler than just any normal bastard. He was the son of Eddard Stark. If she did become queen, she could always legitimize him just as her father had offered. Though thoughts of being queen were far from her mind after seeing what the desire for the throne had done to her father.

“I want to go home.” Shireen suddenly admitted. The subject changing. A tear slipped down over her greyscale.

“We all do.” Sansa patted her hand, understanding more than anyone. “If we manage to take Winterfell back, I promise we’ll help you get back to Dragonstone if that’s what you want.”

  
Shireen shook her head at the offer. “No. There’s never been anything really there for me. It’s just memories and ghosts now.”

"What about Storms End?" Sansa ask. "Is that not the true seat of House Baratheon?"  
  
"It is." Shireen nodded. "But I was only ever there when I was a babe."

"You are still a Baratheon. Your cause to take Storms End is as just as mine and Jons." Sansa encouraged.   
  


Shireen seemed to think about that.

“Well, if you can't decide where to go, you can stay with us at Winterfell.” Sansa invited her to stay with them, giving her a warm smile.  
  
Don't trust anyone. The world is safer that way.  
  
Shae's words whispered in the back of her mind. She was right. She shouldn't trust Shireen. It would be safer, but Sansa knew what it was like to be alone in a place that was so far from home and with little to no clue what was to become of her. 

  
Shireen gaped at her offer.

“How different is the cold of the snow to the cold of the rain and sea?” Sansa asked with good humor. “If you change your mind, we’ll help you go home. Or, ”

  
Shireen threw her arms around Sansa. ‘Thank you so much, Lady Sansa.”

“I had believed with all my heart your father would have rescued and let me go home if he had prevailed at the Black Water. So I am only offering you what I believe he might have.” Sansa returned her hug, reminding herself that Shireen’s Greyscale was not contagious.

Shireen agreed to distract Jon and Sansa and Brienne snuck out of Castle Black a little later that afternoon.

They arrived at Mole Town and eventually found Petyr in a near fallen-in house, probably the only half decent shelter left. He turned as they entered and in his arms was Farryn.

“Sansa,” Petyr greeted her with a smile.

She paid him no mind, her full attention on her blonde daughter in his skinny arms. 

  
“Farryn!” Sansa lunged forward, taking her child from Petyr’s arms who released her easily. She then put as much distance as she could between her and Baelish.

She fawned over her daughter, looking her over. Her cheeks were a little rosy from waiting in the cold but she was otherwise dressed very warmly in gloves and all. Sansa held her close and inhaled that wonderful smell of innocence that still clung to her from when she was born. She felt a little more whole now that she had one of her daughters in her arms.

  
“Lady Brienne.” Petyr bowed his head to the women behind Sansa.

“When I heard you escaped Winterfell, I feared the worst,” Petyr admitted and Sansa glared at him. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you unharmed and with your daughter again.”

  
“And what of my other daughter? I fear the worst every minute that I know Ramsay has Shaela.” she spits back, holding Farryn closer.

  
“How did you let this happen!” Sansa seethes, practically shaking. She calms as Farryn sleepily lays her head on Sansa’s shoulder. “I told Ramsay I had a stillbirth to avoid him finding out about the twins.”

  
Petyr bows his head, considering his explanation carefully. 

  
“They did not believe your lie, I’m afraid. You were still producing mothers milk six months after you were due to give birth, Ramsay went with this information to the Maester who said if you had a stillbirth your milk would have dried up in weeks but since it had not you must have had a babe at your breast daily.” Petyr said with surprising composure on such a womanly matter

  
Then again, he ran brothels. Sansa thought.

Sansa pinched her eyes shut. Stupid girl, stupid girl. She berated herself.

  
“Roose wrote to question me on your first pregnancy and the child.  I thought it would be more wise and beneficial, to be honest with him.” Petyr bowed his head again his shame. As if he had any.

  
“We arranged a marriage between one of your daughters and his newborn son. The daughter and granddaughter of Eddard Stark, who was also an heir to Casterly Rock, in his pocket would guarantee a stronghold in the North and with the crown once the marriage contract was signed.” he continued on under the freezing gaze of both Brienne and Sansa who allowed him to speak.

“He required that he see the girls himself, as proof that neither was a dwarf.” it made sense of course. That fear and distrust that Petyr would have the contract sign only to swindle Roose by giving his son a dwarf bride in fifteen years to wed.

Sansa closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose. “He would betroth one to his son and allow the other to be fostered in Winterfell until a more convenient and beneficial arrangement could be arranged. Possibly a marriage with another Northern house”

  
“I thought it would be a lovely surprise for you to see your daughters again. I had promised you that you would see them again." He smiled. His eyes were sad, apologetic and hopeful.   
  
"I never thought to allow you to be wed to Ramsay for long. I brought the Knights of the Vale to come to your rescue and help you take Winterfell from him and Roose.” Sansa’s eyes remained closed while her blood boiled as Petyr continued to speak.

“When we took Winterfell you would be with your daughters, and all the North would see it as a show that House Stark lived through you.” he said as if this plan he supposedly had all along would absolve him.  
  
If he really had thought this out before. He could have told her. But he didn't. He was a liar and a traitor.  
  
"All you do is betray people," Sansa said with pure disgust. 

"Never you." He promised, taking a stepfoward. She took one back and Brienne one forward, hand on her sword.   
  
Petyr backed up. "It was never my intention to betray you. All I've wanted, since the day you came to Kings Landing, was to help you."

Sansa scoffed. He didn't want to help her. He wanted to fuck her. But to even have a chance at that he needed her to trust him, so he helped her. Because if he could never have her mother, she was the next best thing. He was sick.

“The army was well behind me, to avoid suspicion. They came under the disguise of a caravan bringing supplies for the winter." he continued to explain, as if he actually though Sansa wanted to hear any of it.

  
"I’m afraid though that on the road we were intercepted by Bolton soldiers asking for your bastard. Farryn was in another carriage with the wet nurse, but Shaela was with me.” the thought of Petyr holding any of her children made her uneasy and ill. She barely let him touch them when they were at the Vale.

  
“And you just gave her up to them.” it was not a question because Sansa knew the answer.

“I had not known of Roose’s death, I thought it was a simple pre-escort." he told her, his face doing very little to supply truth to his words.

"Farryn was nursing. I thought Shaela would be safe going on ahead for the time being. Really it was for the best. I was still able to protect Farryn." The glare Sansa shot him made Petyr swallow thickly with nervousness. 

  
"Ramsay must not have found any of Roose's letters talking about twin daughters. Or he just never ordered his soldiers to make sure to come back with both of them." he said, smirking as if the insult to Ramsay's intelligence would please her.

  
But Ramsay was far more clever that Little Finger.

  
She knew that Roose burned almost all of his missives after receiving them and told his son very little of any of his plans. Ramsay must have assumed she only had one child, as most would after he had spoken to the maester. If anything, he most likely found the draft of the marriage contract between his baby brother and her daughter so he was only looking for one little girl when Petyr arrived in the North. 

Petyr kept talking and Sansa resisted rolling her eyes at the sound of his voice.

"It wasn’t until we got closer to Winterfell that an informant of mine met us and told me what had happened to Roose and his wife and son. I gave the order and we turned for Moat Cailin right away." he went on to explain his continued cowardice. 

"The Knight of the Vale will be arriving there on the morrow. We will help you get Farryn and Winterfell back." he promised her. Sweet sounding and ollow as all of his promises were

Sansa’s skin crawled the longer he spoke.

  
“Brienne, as my hands are full would you so kindly mind slapping Lord Baelish for me?” Sansa asked relaxing and speaking softly, noting Farryn’s snores.

“It would be my pleasure, my lady.”

There was fear all over Petyr’s face as he started to back away. But Brienne caught him by the front of his cloak and backhanded him, his lip busted open. Petyr gave a loud, high grunt at the hit and Sansa shushed him.

  
“Quiet, Farryn is sleeping,” Sansa whispered with a smirk.

  
“Thank you, Brienne, that is all for now.” she smiled at her guard who returned to stand just a step behind Sansa. 

Petyr whimpered but tried to act a man, straightening up again and calmly taking a silk scarf out and wiping his mouth. He attempted to look unfazed but Sansa knew that he was a man weak to physicality. 

“You say you are happy to see me unharmed. But I am far from unharmed, Lord Baelish.” Sansa tells him with a furious frown thinking of what was happening to Shaela right now.

  
“Did you know about Ramsay?” Sansa asked, cradling the back of Farryn’s little blond head.

Petyr smartly didn’t answer right away, sensing she had more to say.

“If you didn’t your an idiot, and if you did your my enemy,” she said with a hiss of barely contained fury. "But you've already become that I think."

  
With Farryn still tucked safely in her arms, Sansa stepped closer to Lord Baelish. 

  
“Would you like to hear about my wedding night?” she smiled sweetly.

Baelish stepped back as if he would be hit again. His shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath, his mind imagining she was sure. She wanted to tell Brienne to slap him again when she saw the pity in his eyes.

  
“He never touched my face of course. He needed my face, the face of Ned Stark’s daughter.” she raised her brow. “But he did what he liked to the rest of me. As long as I could give him an heir,”

And she had, but she would not tell him that.

  
“What do you think he did?” she asked darkly.

“I can’t begin to contemplate--” his voice was low, husky with remorse possibly, maybe fear of Brienne.

  
“Try.” Sansa said. “What do you think he did?” 

He didn’t answer.

  
“Lady Sansa asked you a question,” Brienne said, putting a hand on her sword.

Petyr swallowed nervously at the gesture. He looked at Brienne, then looked at Sansa.

“He beat you?” he offered.

“Yes, he enjoyed that.” Sansa nodded. “What else do you think he did?”

  
“Sansa, I--”

  
“What else?” her words were drawled out darkly.

Petyr’s eyes glanced at Brienne and he began to rub his fingers together at his sides. He shifted his weight to the other foot. 

  
“Did he cut you?” he asked, his voice thick as if he would cry. Sansa wanted to scoff at his display of emotion.

  
“Maybe you did know about Ramsay after all.” Sansa said, stepping backward from him.

“I didn’t know.” Petyr denied gently, sincerely.

“I thought you knew everyone's secrets.” Sansa did scoff this time.

“The other things he did to me ladies aren’t supposed to talk about. But I’m sure brothel keepers here about them all the time.” she seethed.

  
“I can still feel it.” She swallows back her tears. 

  
Her fury burns away her tears but her cheeks tinge pink with her humiliation. But she needs him to know what he allowed to happen to her if he really did know the kind of man Ramsay was when he offered her hand to him.

“And I don’t mean in my tender heart it still pains me so. I can still feel the things that he did, that he put inside of me. Things that are not meant to go in those places. Standing here right now I can still feel it.”

“I made a mistake.” Petyr calmly pleaded, hands coming out as if to touch her, to beg her. “A horrible mistake in trusting a stranger.”

“I am so sorry.” he tried to apologize. It was perhaps his best performance yet.

  
“You said you would protect me.That you would protect my daughters.” she reminded him.

“And I will. You must believe me that I will,” he somehow begged while still looking dignified and sincere.

  
“I don’t believe you anymore. I don’t need you anymore.” She told him, eyes tearing up again.

“You can’t even protect yourself. I could have Brienne cut you down right now for your  _ mistake _ .” Sansa continued to speak in a hushed voice.

“Did you know, Ramsay killed his step-mother and his own baby brother? He has no guilt or mercy for babes and you have given my daughter to that monster.” she told him and Farryn stirred a little. Sansa kissed her head and shushed her softly, rubbing her back.

“I really should kill you.” Sansa says, looking at him with cold and hardened eyes. “And why shouldn’t I?”

  
Truly, she was curious as to why he thought she shouldn't.

“Do you want me to beg for my life, is that what you want?” He asked. “I will.”

  
Sansa looked so offended that she might take his head herself. He was so pathetic.

  
“Whatever it is that is in my power, I will do.” he looked at her, and the way he looked at her she had to remind herself what a charming actor he was and could not be believed.

  
“And if I want you to die, here and now? Watch your blood stain the snow red?” Sansa asked, face a porcelain mask.

  
“Then I will die.” 

  
Sansa wanted to scream. Instead, she spoke calmly.

  
“You freed me from the monsters that murdered my family and you gave me to other monsters that murdered my family.” Sansa looked at her daughter, her sweet face, innocent and unaware.

  
“Go back to Moat Cailin, Lord Baelish.” Sansa said. “I will spare your life this once only because of the justice you gave my mother's death.”

“But I promise you, if anything befalls Shaela I will hunt you down and I will have your head on a block.” with those final words, Sansa turned to leave with her daughter and Brienne back to Castle Black but Petyr had to have the last word.

“I would do anything to undo what’s been done to you. To take back handing over Shaela. But I  know I can’t.” Sansa stopped but did not look back. 

“Will you please allow me to say just one more thing before I go?” Sansa knew she shouldn’t, yet she looked over her shoulder not occupied by her baby.

“Your great-uncle, Brynden, The Blackfish, has gathered what remains of the Tully forces and has retaken Riverrun. You might consider seeking him out regarding your and your brother's campaign to retake Winterfell.” Petyr informed her. “A time may come when you need an army loyal to you.”

  
“I have an army.” She told him.

  
“Your brother's army,” he corrected her. “ _ Half _ -brother.”

  
Giving him the last word he wanted Sansa left.

When Sansa returned to Castle Black, a now very awake and curious Farryn in her arms, Jon was very displeased that she had not told him her plans to meet Baelish. Though he was very happy to see his niece.

  
“I didn’t trust you not to kill him on sight.” Sansa said even though she smiled as Jon held Farryn for the first time. She seemed intrigued by his long hair. 

Over Jon’s shoulder, Tormund was making faces at Farryn, earning wonderful giggles out of her. She learned that Tormund had two daughters, though different ages. They were among the other Free Folk women at The Wall. Fierce fighters both of them, one married. He offers to ask one of the Free Folk women to be a wet nurse for her and she accepts, though with some hesitation. She can’t help some of the fear and prejudice she still had from the stories she had once been told about the Wildings. But Jon praised them and all she had come across had been kind to her, ogling her hair.

  
Jon told her it was because the Free Folk believed red hair to be lucky and called those with red hair, like Tormund ‘kissed by fire’.

“He helped kill Joffrey. He avenged my mother in his own way. That was the only reason I spared him.” she explained, cooing at Farryn. Her eyes wouldn’t leave the Giant named  Wun Wun

Her little mouth was opened in a 'O' and her eyes bulged and  sparkled with wonder. Sansa own eyes had teared up when she saw Wun Wun. It didn't seem real to her that giants could really exsist still. It was an enchantment of magic and old gods.

“I think you have an admirer, Wun Wun!” Tormund called up to the giant with a bellowing laugh.

Wun Wun looked at the group and Sansa jumped a little when the Giant got on all fours, face right next to them. Farryn reached out and touched his nose, giving a great big laugh when the giant gave a toothy smile. She laughed so hard, Jon almost thought he would drop her. But Shireen put herself behind Farryn, ready to support or catch her if somehow Jon couldn’t manage a one-year-old.

“If the lot of you are done, we have a war meeting.” interrupted Davos with a smirk.


	11. Chapter XI: The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang makes a plan for taking back Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning!!!
> 
> Mention of the consideration of abortion via moontea.

They stood and sat at two of the dining tables pushed together, a map laid out over it with runes placed and marked to represent the houses of the North and the number of soldiers. Sansa and Brienne sat on Jon’s side, Farryn on Sansa’s lap playing with an empty mug. Ed Tollett was on Jon’s other side. Davos, Shireen, and Melisandre were on the other side of the table with Tormund.

“We can’t protect The North against the White Walkers and The South from the Bolton.” Jon said with great frustration.

“If we want to survive we need Winterfell and to take Winterfell we need more men!” he said tossing a piece on the map with a clatter. 

The sound caught Farryn’s attention and she attempted to reach across the table for the piece. 

  
“No sweetling, you can’t have that,” Sansa said softly, leaning back so the piece was out of Farryn’s reach.

Jon put distance between him and the table while Tormund took a seat at one of the ends. They all studied the map.

  
“Besides the Starks and, currently the Bolton's, the next most powerful houses in The North would be the Umbers, Karstarks and the Manderlys.” It was Shireen who spoke, leaning over the table and pointing out each houses place on the map. “Though not necessarily in that order.”

Davos gave Shireen an approving nod and leaned over to move some runes from the map and piled them over the Bolton's currently at Winterfell on the map.

“But the Umbers and Karstarks have already declared for House Bolton, so we’re not doing so great there.” he reminded the princess who frowned.

She should have remembered that. 

“The Umbers are the ones that gave Rickon to Ramsay. Smalljon Umber can hang.” Sansa says mercilessly

  
“But the Karstarks have always been loyal cousins of the Starks. They declared without knowing they had another chance.” Sansa defended them trying to believe there was some loyalty left. After all, Roose had married her to Ramsay because it would give them the backing of the North so some houses had to still be loyal to her.

  
“I’m not so sure of that, my lady.” Davos frowned. “The Karstarks know that a Stark beheaded their father. Something like that as you know can shake the foundation of any alliance. We can’t count on them.”

He had an ample point. Sansa knew he was right but she had wanted to hold on to some hope that Northern loyalty could still prevail. But as Davos reminded her, when she tried to speak about Northern loyalty, not many houses rose up against the Bolton's when they had betrayed her family. The truth stung.

“I may not know the north, my lady, but I do know men.” he said meeting her eyes. “There more or less the same in any corner of the world. Event he bravest of them don’t want to their wives and children skinned for a lost cause.” 

  
Sansa paled and looked down at her lap at Farryn. Was Ramsay skinning pieces of Shaela right now.

“Ser Davos!” Shireen said lowly, looking from Farryn to him as if to remind him that Ramsay had one of her children in his clutches.

  
Davos quickly apologized. “Pardons, my lady, I did not mean---”

  
“Don’t think of it, Ser Davos.” Sansa brushed his apology off. She didn’t want to think of it anymore.

“Ser Davos is right about the fear that the Bolton’s have instilled in the North,” Shireen speaks up. “I’ve seen my father lead his men and I’ve seen his men run off in the night because they knew he couldn’t win against the Bolton's.”

Davos nodded and cleared his throat. “Jon’s got to convince them to fight aside him.  They need to believe it’s a fight we can win.”

  
He was right again. The North had bled already for a lost cause, how could they ask them to do that again. To risk everything again without being sure they could win. What if they really couldn’t?

“There are still more than three other houses in the North,” Jon came back to the table.

  
“Glover, Mormont, Cerwyn, Maizin, Hornwood. Two dozen more.” he waved a hand over the map. “Together they equal all the rest.”

“We can start small and build,” Jon said sensibly and Davos gave a nod of agreement with him.

  
Sansa started to bounce her knee when Farryn began to get fussy. The bouncing soothed her.

  
“The North remembers, it remembers the Stark name,” Sansa told everyone. “I have to believe some will still risk everything for it. From White Harbor to Ramsay’s own door.”

“I want to believe that too.” Davos went along with her. “But the problem we face with that is that Jon doesn’t have the Stark name.”

“No, but I do.” Sansa said quickly and they all looked at her. “I may have been married twice now, but I am still Ned Starks daughters. It’s why the Lannisters and the Boltons wanted me. It's why I was subjected to marry Ramsay to gain Northern loyalty.”

“They  _ Needed  _ me.” Sansa corrected herself. “I still should mean something in the North.”

They all blinked at her besides Shireen who grinned.

  
Sansa rolled her eyes. “But if nobody wants to fight for a girl then I will vouche that Jon is just as much Ned Stark’s son as Ramsay’s is Rooses.”

  
She looked at Jon and smiled. “Ramsay said it himself. Bastards can rise high in the world.”

Jon looked at her unsure.

  
“I never told you how proud I was to hear that you had been voted the next Lord Commander,” she told Jon. “Father, Robb and Uncle Benjen would have been proud too.”

  
Jon gave her a tight smile, thanking her for that sentiment. And coming from someone who he had never been close with in childhood, someone who was so much like the woman that never acknowledged him, it meant a lot.

  
She looked at those around the table with a smirk. “Besides,  these days birth doesn’t seem to mean much when you have the product of incest sitting the Iron Throne.”

There was no laughter at that and Sansa didn’t expect any. 

  
“There is also the Tully’s.” Sansa threw out there, looking confident about it. “Their not a Northern House, but they’ll fight for us.”

Davos adjusted his arms resting on the table. “I didn’t know the Tully’s had an army still?

  
“Lord Baelish, said that my great uncle had reformed their numbers and taken back Riverrun.”  said Sansa. “I am my mother's daughter. They’ll support me against the Bolton’s without question.”

“And you trust Baelish?” Jon said, looking taken aback and offended.

“It’s complicated, Jon.” Sansa sighed.

  
“What's complicated about what he did to you?” Jon said with a gruff growl, looking at her with absolute disbelief at what he was hearing.

Sansa looked at him. They didn't have time for her to explain politics, to explain Baelish.

  
“He was in love with my mother. He couldn’t have her, she’s dead and now I am the closest thing he can get to her.” she explained with some pink in her cheeks. The thought of how Little Finger felt for gave her goose flesh. 

“He wants me. He’s trying to win back my trust with this information. So I don’t trust him, but I don’t think he’s lying.” she said.

  
“That sick son of---”

  
“Yes, yes, Jon, you can rave on about my honor another day. For now, let's focus on rallying the North and the Tully forces.” she nodded back to the map.

  
“Well, this is good. The Blackfish is a legend. His support will mean a great deal.” Davos started to smile a little standing up from his seat and pointing to sections of the map.

  
“Stark, Tully and a few more houses and we’ll start to look like a winning side.” Davos started to sit back down, looking ready and pleased to have a plan formed.

At Davos words, Sansa kissed Farryn’s head. “You here that. Mama and Uncle Jon are going to get your sister back.”

Farryn looked up at her, and with intense and questioning eyes opened her mouth and spoke.

“Mama?”

  
Sansa gasped and looked joyously around the table. “Her first word!” 

  
Shireen cheered with Sansa, and the room couldn’t help but break out in smiles at the momentous occasion of the child. They poured a round of ale to celebrate.

  
“This is what’s worth fighting for.” Shireen suddenly said, a fire in her eyes. “Lady Farryn and Lady Shaela. Lord Rickon and all the children of the North. We need to remind them that we are not simply fighting to get back Winterfell for Sansa and Jon, but for the generation after them.”

  
Davos looked proudly at Shireen, eyes sparkling. “Well said, Princess.”

“Here, here!” Tormund banged his mug on the table. 

Jon joined in and all the others followed in a loud cheer and Sansa lifted Farryn higher in her arms. Kissing her chubby cheeks. Shireen was absolutely right. They weren’t taking Winterfell back just for themselves but because it was home. It was Arya and Bran and Rickon’s home. It would be the home of her daughters growing up.

“Once we retake Winterfell I plan to sail with Davos and Shireen to Dragonstone. Shireen had told me that there is a mine of Dragonglass among the caves. We’ll need as much of it as we can get to stand a chance against the army of the dead.” Jon said when they had calmed down some.

While Shireen had been distracting Jon, it had been about her knowledge of Dragonstone, which included telling him about the mines of dragonglass. The same material that could kill a wight. 

“Alright then.” was all Sansa could say about it for now. If obsidian was what they needed, then they would put their efforts towards getting it once they could spare it.

“I also think it’s best if I go to Riverrun and speak with my uncle myself.  I don’t know the full situation that he’s facing and I may be able to make a better argument if I’m there myself.” Sansa’s words were more directed to Jon than anyone in the room.

  
Davos agreed it was would be more persuasive for her to see the Blackfish face to face, especially when he had never met Sansa before. 

“But what about Farryn?” Jon asked concerned about Sansa leaving his side. But somehow had to stay and rally the North. 

  
“I will be taking her with me of course.” she told him, regret haunting her blue eyes. “I won’t ever leave my daughters behind again. I just have to hold on hope that Ramsay won’t do anything rash while I’m away.”

“It will break my heart to go so far from where I know Shaela is. But I have to do all I can to get the Blackfish on our side to give us the best chance to get Shaela and Rickon back.” Sansa said trying not to cry.

“I’m sorry, Sansa. I understand.” Jon said, putting his arm around her shoulder in a half embrace. “I just don’t like the thought of you going where I can’t protect you."

  
Sansa smiled at Jon. “Don’t worry, I’ll have Brienne with me.” 

  
Not knowing Brienne’s actual skill, Jon did not share Sansa’s confidence in the woman.

  
“And if it comforts you, I rather not have to leave your side either. Not so soon after we’ve reunited” she smiled and cupped his cheek affectionately. 

Jon turns and smiles into her hand in a platonic gesture of sibling love. Sometimes they just had to reach out and touch the other, remind them that they were real and in front of them. Farryn wiggled between them grabbing and pulling at Jon’s sleeve.

  
“And I will of course miss you too.” Jon grinned and made a scrunched face at Farryn. 

The baby frowned and slapped his cheek until he smoothed out his face and they laughed together at Farryn’s displeasure at the look he had been sporting. 

Jon and Sansa decided to dine in private that night. In the morning they would leave Castle Black to begin their war efforts. 

“I was so scared of giving birth, especially to a Lannister babe.” Sansa confessed looking to the corner of the room where Farryn slept in the bed that had once been made for a Wilding girl that had stayed with them. 

Jon told her the tale of Gilly and his friend Samwell Tarly. Sansa thought this Sam was very brave and very kind. That same Sam and his wife had taken the baby to Old Town so that he may study and replace there deceased Maester, Aemon. Sam was not a fighter, no matter how hard Jon had tried to help him and Sam knew his limits too. So he wanted to help in another way, being being a Maester for Castle Black and researching all he could on what the Citadel might have about Wight Walkers. Sansa thought that was very noble of his friend and she hoped he could meet him one day.

“I kept thinking, how can I love something that shares the blood of my enemies?” she shook her head. “I thought Robb would be so disappointed in for giving my body to a Lannister.”

  
“Robb would never think that of you.” Jon said fiercely, putting his hand over hers on top of the table. “He loved you so much, Sansa.”

  
“Then why didn’t he trade Jaime Lannister for me?” Sansa asked confessing the dark bitterness she had been holding towards her brother for some time. "If he loved me so much. Why didn't he trade Ser Jaime for me?"

  
“I’m sure he wanted to Sansa, but Robb was under a lot of pressure leading the North. He wanted to avenge father, he wanted to get you and Arya back.” Jon tried to imagine what had been happening in his brothers head. 

“I can’t say it was the right thing, to refuse the trade but I’m sure Robb had a good reason why he thought he shouldn’t.”Jon desperately tried to think of what that good reason could be, so he could give his sister some assurance of their brothers love. 

  
“He probably thought it was more advantageous if he kept Jaime Lannister. That as long as they had him you were safe. If he let Jaime go, no one can say that the Lannisters wouldn’t be despicable enough to do something to you on the way or during the trade the moment opening and then it would have been all for nought.” he tried to think as a soldier and leader if he had been in Robbs shoes. 

Sansa’s hand curled under his into a fist.

  
“But I wasn’t safe. They hurt me and humiliated me everyday and everyday I prayed for Robb’s victory, held on to hope that he would save me.” her voice croaked and a tear slipped down his face.

  
“I’m just so angry with him, with his choices, what they cost me, what they cost  _ The North. _ ” she looked up at him sharply, her tears drying quickly.

  
“Why did he have to marry that woman? Why couldn’t he just do his duty like I did?” it wasn’t faire, Sansa thought. She hadn’t wanted to marry Tyrion, but she did. Because she had to, because it was her duty. 

All Jon had to do was marry the Frey girl. He could have kept that other woman as a mistress if he really couldn’t free himself of his desire for her after he bedded his wife. 

  
“Love is the death of duty.” said Jon with sad understanding. “Maester Aemon told me that once.”

  
“So it is.” Sansa agreed looking at her plate.

  
Jon knew Sansa loved Robb, he could never doubt that. He understood her bitterness, her fear and anger from her perspective. It made his blood boil and heart rage in his chest thinking about what she had been put through, what the Lannisters and Ramsay had done to her. 

He often thought he should never have gone to the wall, he should have stayed behind, made Lady Stark let him stay and help Robb. He could have fought with him, maybe convinced him to uphold his promise to the Freys. They would never know now what could have been, what his presence beside Robb would have changed. He had to accept the path he had chosen. 

“If your scared about this new babe, about your capability to love it, then I think you have nothing to fear.” Sansa looked up at him confused. What could he know about being a parent to a child you never wanted. “But I will support you, with whatever decision you make regarding it.”

“I want it gone, Jon. I’m so scared of it, of what it might become.” Sansa bit her lip, her eyes haunting. 

“At least, with a Lannister babe, I knew how sweet and kind Myrcella and Tommen were. Even Lord Tyrion had a half decent heart. I took hope from knowing that not all Lannisters were like Joffrey, Cersei and Tywin.” she told him what she had been thinking while she had been pregnant, after she had decided to keep her babe.

“But Roose, Ramsay, the reputation of that entire house is evil and I----” Sansa choked.

  
“I can’t help but feel that this babe has no chance of being anything other than bad.” her cheeks burned with the shame of her confession, remembering she had once wondered the same about Farryn and Shaela yet she loved them so much and now she didn’t even want to give the same chance to her new babe.

"Everyone knows the rumors. Ramsay murdered his older brother, Roose True Born son. What if I have this baby and it does the same to my girls." Sansa felt her face go green just thinking about such a thing. That it would be her fault by bringing this child into the world.

  
“What if Shaela and Farryn are my only exception? What if it looks just like him and I can’t love it?” Sansa asked him, her gut twisting grimly.

Jon considered Sansa, stunned and gazing at her with astonishment.

  
“Sansa, you might not want to hear this, but Farryn looks just like Cersei. Or Myrcella if that’s more comforting, with that gold hair and those emerald eyes. But when you look at her, do you see Cersei?” Jon asked, voice solid, grounding.

  
Sansa shook her head. 

Jone smiled. “No, you see  _ your  _ daughter.”

  
Jon tilted her chin up to look at him. His grey eyes were wa rm. “Any child of yours is half of you too. And Sansa, you may have made mistakes but you are a good, beautiful and wonderful woman. Father would be so proud of you.”

  
“Do you really think so?” Sansa asked in a hoarse whisper as she swallowed back tears.

  
“Absolutely.” Jon smiled.

“Thank you, Jon.” Sansa turned her hand over and squeezed Jon’s fingers. She really needed to hear all of that.

"I know, the idea of a Bolton baby scares you. But Bolton, Lannister or Stark, the truth is we can never know for sure what our children will grow to be. Parents do try to raise their children right and pray for the best and fear the worst every day I'm sure." Jon said, thinking of their father, of Sansa's mother and how they had seen to their children, how Catelyn looked at him as if he would stab each one of her children while they were asleep in their beds.  
  
She feared the worst but it never came to be. That was not who he grew to be. 

"I don't have what we need to make moon tea at the wall. But I'll help find what you need once we leave," he promised her, respecting her wishes and not wanting anymore heartache and worry on his sister's shoulders. Not if he could help her avoid it.

When Jon had left to his own room for the night, Sansa took out the project she had been working on. Queen Selyse had left a trunk of fabric and furs when she left to lighten the load of their travel to Winterfell.  Sansa had taken what was in the trunk to fashion at least three new gowns for herself and using the rest to sew some warm clothes and nappies for Farryn. Only after she had gotten Shireen’s permission of course since they had been her mothers belongings and now in all right were hers. But Shireen had given the trunk and all its contents to Sansa with a smile. 

  
The project she was finishing was a new cloak for Jon. When she was done, she carefully examined the cloak for any faulty stitches. But it was perfect. Sansa folded it away, checked on Farryn and then crawled into bed for the night.

The next morning, when Sansa went down into the yard, Jon was already there. Behind Sansa was Brienne and the Wilding woman, Gjarna, who had taken up the mantle of Farryn’s wet nurse. Becuase Sansa insisted on bringing Farryn, Gjarna volunteered to travel with them. 

Gjarna was pretty, thin and pointy faced Wilding woman around the same age as Brienne. She was between Sansa and Brienne’s heights. Sansa had given her her old cloak to Gjarna and wrapped the fur that the woman had already been wearing over the shoulders and hood of the cloak. Wilding garb would be easy to notice and it would allow them to travel with less issue if she didn’t stand out as much.

Gjarna hadn’t complained, but she had looked annoyed at she stood still for Sansa.

Eyes on Jon, Sansa went to him with his new cloak in her arms. Podrick was preparing their horses and Gjarna was holding Farryn.

Jon smiled as he met her, looking at hte velvet dress she was wearing and the embroidered wolf on her chest with stretched out branches behind it. 

“New dress.” he noticed with a smile, impressed. 

“I made it myself. Do you like it?” Sansa asked to tease him, knowing he wouldn’t have a real thought about a womens fashion.

  
He nodded all the same. “I like the wolf bit.”

“Good, because I made this for you.” she then handed Jon the cloak.

“Shireen let me use what was in the trunk her mother left.” Sansa explained where she had gotten the fabrics, having not come with any of her own. 

Pressed into the leather straps, Sansa had managed to hand stamp the direwolf head of House Stark.

“I made it like the one father used to wear.” She smiled at him. “As close as I could remember of it.”

  
Jon looked at her, clearly moved by her gift. After all, for years when they were children Sansa had never acknowledged him as a Stark. So for her to do so now, it meant a great deal. She was his family, and at last, he was feeling loved and appreciated by her.

“Thank you, Sansa.”

Sansa smiled. “Your very welcome.”

She helped Jon put it on and smoothed down the fur around the shoulders. “You are our fathers son. No matter what people might say, what they call you, always know to me and to father, you are a Stark.”

Kissing his cheek, Sansa went and mounted her own horse. It had been difficult and frightening to try and ride with Farryn on the way back from Mole Town, but this time Gjarna helped her wrap a sling around herself to carry Farryn in while they rode. Gjarna also had a sling for herself when they needed to switch.

After saying a few words to Ed Tollett, who seemed to be the Lord Commander stand in as of now, Jon mounted his own dark steed and began to lead them out of the yard. The closest northern house that wasn’t loyal to Ramsay was Mormont of Bear Island. There was a small port that they would leave from to get to Bear Island. But with no time to waste, Sansa and Jon had too part far too soon.

“I know you can rally them Jon.” Sansa shared her confidence in him. “I believe in you. Remind them of their oaths, tell them what we are fighting for. Rickon and the North’s future.”

  
With the promise to see eachother soon, Sansa rode on with her own small party, keeping off the main traveling roads to avoid being spotted by Bolton scouts. Sansa wished she could stay, to convince the houses alongside Jon. But she couldn’t shake the feeling things would go smoother if she pleaded her cause to her great uncle face to face. 

With a small party, the time it took to arrive at Riverrun went from just less than a month to a few weeks travel by horse. They had tried to keep going as long as they could, with short breaks. Thankfully, Farryn found the soft jostling of horseback soothing as she made the travel in her sling. Sleeping most of the time.

When they arrived, Sansa’s heart sunk. There were hundreds of red tents surrounding the castle of Riverrun. Sansa pulled her cloak around Farryn’s sling to hide her from view.

  
“It looks like a seige, my lady.” Podrick, who was at the front with Brienne said to the knight.

  
“You have a keen  military mind, Pod.” Brienne retorted dryly.

  
“What do we do?” Sansa asked Brienne.

Brienne was quiet, her eyes seeming to have focused on something. While her focuse was elsewhere, Lannister soldiers riding towards them from the side. 

  
Sansa pulled her hood over her hair.

The soldiers surrounded them.

  
“Who goes there?” one demands loudly at them.

  
Sansa keeps her head down, rocking Farryn as the sound shout startles her awake. She whimpers but Sansa is able to keep her from crying.

“My name is Brienne of Tarth. Please infront Ser Jaime Lannister that I’ve come to speak with him.” Brienne loud and clear for them.

  
Than she softly ads. “Tell him I have his sword.”

 


End file.
